


The Slytherin Way

by marinstan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Auror Ron Weasley, Blow Jobs, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Draco/Pansy friendship, Explicit Sexual Content, Harry/Ron friendship - Freeform, Healing, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mystery, Rent Boy Draco Malfoy, Rimming, Romance (duh), Top Harry Potter, a little bit of domestic fluff, case-fic, nothing graphic though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 44,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24556813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marinstan/pseuds/marinstan
Summary: A murder. A suspect.An Auror in love with a rent boy.Or: In which Harry is stupid for Draco, Draco more than a bit self-destructive, and Ron the only one who sees reason.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 62
Kudos: 365





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone!  
> This story is meant to be a Mystery (mainly) - but I'm not really a Mystery writer at all, so it very well might be you figure it all out right from the start! If you do, maybe you want to stay for the angst and fluff and smut (hehe) that's to come <3
> 
> I hope you enjoy and stay safe out there!

My coffee is lukewarm when I finally open the letter. I already know what it is, what it will say and what it means, but as long as I haven't read it, I won't _know_.

That is probably the reason why I brought it all the way out to Muggle London, where no one knows me. To stall.

Or maybe I hoped the pleasant anonymity and the smell of sugar in the air would somehow soften the blow that I know is to come. 

_You are a Gryffindor_ , I remind myself. 

Staring at this bloody letter for another pointless hour won't make it better.  


It won't change anything.

My fingers are clumsy as I pick the letter up and slice it open. I destroy the envelope, but I'm not planning on keeping that anyway, so what does it matter?

The parchment is smooth under my fingers as I read the lines over and over again. There are not too many of them.

Ginny has never been one for long speeches and overwritten monologues. 

I must have lost myself in the ink for a moment, because the waitress startles me. Her big brown eyes exude compassion as she asks: „Can I get you anything else?“

My mouth is dry, but I manage a smile at her. „No, thank you.“

She nods and turns, her curls bobbing around her head like a living halo of golden brown.

I wonder if she knows what it's like having to watch your first love marry someone who's not you.

Probably not. She also probably wouldn't understand why I'm making such a big fuss. 

Afterall, Ginny and I have been over for two years now. It's time to move on.

The urge to crumple the letter between my fists is strong. I should resist it – try acting like an adult for once.

I don't. I give in, crumple up the parchment and when no one's looking, light it on fire under the table.

„Thank Merlin. Where the fuck have you been?“

Ron has crossed his arms in front of his chest, more to keep the cold at bay than to express his anger with me.

„Sorry,“ I say, my fingers toying with the clasps of my robes. They're long and heavy, but I'm shivering anyway. This winter is a harsh one.

At the arrival of Aurors, Knockturn Alley is deserted. The alley belongs to the creatures of the night – to the beggars, the thiefs and the whores. All people who want no business with the Ministry.

I understand that completely, but it doesn't make our job any easier.

My eyes wander over the cobble stones, slippery with snow. It's just a thin layer, hardly more than a bit of frost, but if you don't watch your step, you'll crack your skull open on the ground.

Right before us, a tall, narrow building is crammed between a closed shop and a sleazy looking pub. I look at the closed windows, all covered with heavy curtains. The first floor is a hair salon, or it at least claims to be.

„In there?“ 

Ron nods. He takes my arm, his big hand icy. „They've already arrested someone. Did you hear...?“

„Yes,“ I say without looking at Ron. „I heard.“

My best friend gives another curt nod and together, we enter the dark house.

It's not difficult to find the flat in question – it's already magically marked. Two of our colleagues, Angelina Johnson and Ncuti Okafor, are in there, talking to our suspect. The door to the small, crappy flat is opened. 

It's one of those doors you shouldn't even bother locking, because you wouldn't even need a wand to blast it.

I take a fortifying breath, then stride into the room, Ron on my heels.

I knew what was about to come, but... I didn't know what was about to come.

The man Ncuti is handcuffing looks nothing like the Draco Malfoy I remember. 

In school, he was a poncy little brat that turned into a haunted follower of Voldemort.

Last time I saw him, at the trial, he was a tired boy with a target on his back – or, actually, on his arm. 

Now... The most obvious difference is the hair. This Malfoy has ridiculously long, almost white hair. It reaches past his waist, almost down to his narrow hips. 

As he hears more intruders coming in, Malfoy lifts his gaze off the floor. For a moment, I forget I'm a professional and stare at him like I used to do in Hogwarts. 

He is thinner even than he was three years ago. His face is sharp, yet... there is a fragility to him that I don't remember him having.

His eyes, though – they are exactly the same. Grey and big and striking. I used to hate them with passion.

„Malfoy,“ I say. The Slytherin narrows his eyes, doesn't bother answering me.

I wonder why he came back into this flat. He must have known this would be the first place we'd look.

„Harry.“ Angelina nods at me, her frizzy curls a tight, stern plait stuffed under her robes.

„Come on now, Malfoy.“ Ncuti doesn't handle the blond as roughly as many of the older, British Aurors would, but he's not gentle, either.

„You'll side-along him?“ Ron asks, eyes never leaving Malfoy.

„Yeah. I'll see you in 242?“ Ncuti's dark eyes are calm. Malfoy can be glad that he wasn't picked up by one of the many Aurors of the Golden Ranks. The ones that knew Lucius well.

I hear them talking about Malfoy sometimes, whenever there are new arrests of former Death Eaters. They are not too pleased about the fact that Malfoy successfully managed to fly under the radar – to almost completely vanish from the surface of earth, really.

Up until now, of course.

„Let's go,“ I say to Ron and we follow Ncuti and Angelina out of the flat, apparating straight to the Ministry.

Malfoy isn't avoiding our gazes. Ncuti took off his handcuffs, because Malfoy doesn't have a wand and pretty much looks like a breeze would be enough to knock him over.

Ron is leaning against the wall, only watching for now. Angelina and I are sitting across the table from Malfoy, studying his face.

I've said before that Malfoy's eyes are exactly the same. That's not quite true. They are... less feisty. Less... everything, really. Almost shuttered.

It's strange, having a Malfoy sit in front of me, clad in worn muggle clothes. The jeans are tight, if not as tight as they'd be on someone who's not a sceleton. The jumper he's wearing has several holes in it. Apparently, Malfoy is pants at knitting charms.

I'm not surprised.

„Your fingerprints and magical signature were found all over the dead body of Albert Runcorn,“ Angelina says, eyes fixated on Malfoy.

I'm not sure if she's trying for good-cop-bad-cop here, but if she is, I should probably tell her that to Malfoy, I'll never be good cop. 

Even though I gave him his wand back. His wand – and his life. If it wasn't for me, he'd be rotting in Azkaban like his parents.

„That's funny,“ Malfoy says, lips tight.

„Odd that you find murder to be funny,“ Angelina says, resting her elbows on the table, staring at Malfoy.

„Where were you two nights ago, the first of December?“

I watch Malfoy's blank face. One of his brows rises. „I'm assuming out in Knockturn. It was a Saturday, afterall.“

„You can't afford proper clothing, but a night-out is no problem?“ I ask.

One of the small muscles on Malfoy's jaw twitches. „Maybe you've turned ratty clothing into a trend, Potter.“

„Can anyone vouch for you?“ Angelina asks.

Malfoy's spine is straight as a board. „I had a drink at the  _Squid's_ around eleven p.m. You can ask the waiters.“

„For how long did you stay at the bar?“ I ask him.

How I remember it, Malfoy isn't such a great liar. He might think he is, but he's wrong. Keeping secrets – maybe. But outright lying? I can't remember him excelling at that.

Malfoy hesitates. „I think it was past midnight when I left, but I wouldn't swear by it.“

Angelina and I share a brief look.

I wonder if Malfoy knows that he can't give us an alibi, because we don't know when Runcorn was killed. The window covers twenty-four hours, which is a long time.

If you throw a body in River Thames, the time of death gets hard to tell, even for a witch.

„What was your relationship with Runcorn?“ I ask. „Did you know him?“

Malfoy's eyes dart to the side. His face is tense.

„Not really, no.“

I study his face. He meets my gaze with his weirdly faded eyes.

„I know of him. I think he was at the Manor once or twice during Thicknesse's time, but... no, I don't know him well at all.“

Angelina asks him about his work. Malfoy won't answer her and she can't make him. 

Ron steps in and asks about Malfoy's parents. About his flat, for how long he has lived there. If he lives alone.

„No, I moved in there with Pansy, almost three years ago now.“

„Pansy Parkinson?“ Angelina clarifies.

Malfoy nods. „Yes.“

„Are you in a relationship with her?“

A very, very brief smile ghosts over Malfoy's lips. „No, we're just friends.“

When we're through with our questions, I ask the last one.

„How do you explain your magical signature on Runcorn's body? Or your fingerprints?“

Malfoy smiles eerily. 

„I don't know, Potter. Isn't it your job to explain?“

I stay calm, even though Malfoy never makes that easy for me. But throwing tantrums as an Auror gets you sacked very quickly. I'd have lost my badge long ago if my name wasn't Harry Potter.

„You are aware that if we don't have another suspect and no explaination for your prints, that is enough to sentence you.“

Malfoy's mouth twists into the sneer I know so well. „Yes, I'm aware you lot don't always like to put the work in.“

„I wouldn't be playing tough, Malfoy,“ Ron says. „It's not looking too good for you right now.“

Malfoy smiles – an ugly, bitter thing.

„What else is new.“

„I think he was lying when he said he didn't know Runcorn,“ I say.

Angelina undoes her plait, while Ron is making coffee for all of us. Just the smell of the bitter liquid lifts my mood.

„He might have,“ Angelina agrees. „We'll look into it.“

Ncuti looks up from his notes, leaning against the wall. He was watching the whole interrogation through the one-way glass.

„We should, but there's at least nothing strikingly obvious.“ He pushes off the wall and takes his cup of coffe. „As Malfoy said, Runcorn attended two of Lucius Malfoy's parties, but while he was a pretty big bug in the Ministry, the Death Eaters weren't that fond of him. Or not too impressed, at least.“

„So Malfoy didn't see him regularly?“ Ron asks, gulping his coffee as if it wouldn't be scorching hot.

„No, not at home.“

„What about Malfoy's work? He didn't say anything about it,“ I say.

Ncuti and Angelina exchange a quick glance.

„He isn't listed, so he's not working any official job,“ Angelina says. „Which is not surprising. I mean, who'd employ him?“

No one argues.

„We think he's probably turning tricks,“ Ncuti says.

My stomach churns weakly.  


It's not surprising. It makes sense. And it's also not something that should shock me. My attitude toward sex work might be rather negative, but Hermione already gave me a little lecture on that there are differences, that not every prostitute is forced into it, blah blah blah.

Still, the thought of Malfoy selling his body... It's sad. It's somehow one of the saddest things I've heard in a long time.

„Could have Runcorn been a client?“ Angelina asks.

„Definitely,“ Ron says promptly. „He seemed the type.“

Everyone is looking at me. „Right, you poly juiced into him once,“ Ncuti says, grinning crookedly. „That's... strange.“

My mouth twists and I take a sip of coffee. „You could say that.“

„Let's talk it through,“ Angelina says, all business. „Runcorn was one of Malfoy's customers. We know he's not a nice man, so it wouldn't be far-fetched to say he treated Malfoy roughly. He hurts him. Malfoy tells him to stop.“

Angelina looks at me.

„But Runcorn doesn't, because why would he? Malfoy is just a hooker. And he was a Death Eater.“

I swallow. Ncuti continues.

„Malfoy panicks. He draws his wand and... overwhelms Runcorn?“

The fantasy evaporates. The balloon is popped.

„Runcorn was a capable wizard,“ Angelina says. „I doubt Malfoy would have been able to take him down without using a curse. Which he didn't, we know that. The forensic team said so.“

„Runcorn was stunned first and then his throat was sliced, right?“ Ron asks.

„Probably. We're not completely sure, but yes,“ Angelina says.

Ncuti runs a hand over his face.

People passing us must wonder what we're doing, standing gathered around the coffee machine instead of using one of our offices. But it sometimes helps, to be elsewhere.

„That sounds to me like someone surprised him,“ Ron says.

„If that's true, our theory would be wrong.“ Ncuti empties his cup.

„Would it have to be? Maybe Runcorn hurt Malfoy, thought they were done. Turned his back on him and Malfoy struck him.“

Angelina looks at us, lifting her shoulders. „It's possible.“

„Yeah, might be. Malfoy's definitely not above that,“ Ron says.

I frown. Something about it feels wrong to me, but I can't say why.

„There is something I find weird though,“ Ron goes on, rubbing his nose, then looking into his cup.

„Go on.“ Ncuti watches him apprehensively.

„It's just... the murderer dumped Runcorn into the Thames to cover up what he did. Gain time. But he didn't bother to even try hiding the traces he left? Like, not at all.“

Angelina puts her cup down and crosses her arms. „Everyone knows that it's nearly impossible to destroy a magical trace.“

„But most people still try,“ Ncuti argues.

I look at my cup, deep in thoughts.

Malfoy's behaviour during the interrogation... I have a hard time making sense of it. It's not surprsing he doesn't trust the Ministry, probably doesn't want to say any more than he strictly has to so that it won't be used against him.

But I would have still expected him to try a little harder to get us off his back. I'm sure Malfoy is creative enough to come up with an explaination of his prints on the body. 

But he didn't.

„Maybe he didn't do it alone,“ I say.

Ncuti and Angelina both seem skepitcal.

„The murder looks like a solo act to me,“ Angelina says. Ron nods.

„Yeah, I think so, too. It was just... I don't know, it's more a feeling.“

I rub my eyes and drain my cup. 

„I just think we should keep an open mind.“

„Totally,“ Ncuti agrees. 

„We can keep Malfoy on hold for more than forty-eight hours, right? The evidence is enough,“ Angelina asks.

I nod. „Yeah.“

„Then I suggest we call it a day,“ Ncuti says. „I should've been home an hour ago. My sister will be furious.“

We all know that Ncuti lives with his younger sister. She's fresh out of school and likes to keep him busy.

„Sounds good. I'll see you tomorrow.“ Angelina nods at us and then strides down the hallway.

Ron turns to me. „You want to have dinner with us? Hermione didn't cook, so it'll be nice.“

He smiles at me.  
For a moment, I consider it. I really miss my friends. We haven't seen each other off work in quite a while.

„Another time, yeah? I'd stay for a little longer.“

Ron clearly isn't thrilled, but he doesn't argue with me. „Don't stay too long. If you fall asleep at your desk again, Hermione will blame me.“

The holding cells at the Ministry have nothing on Azkaban, but that doesn't mean I'd like to spend even just one night in there.

But I have my issues with small spaces, so maybe it's not as bad as I think it is.

Malfoy at least seems pretty collected when I approach him. He's sitting on the small plank bed, cross-legged, back against the wall. Tired, but far from even trying to fall asleep.

I can't get over his hair. It makes him look like a Veela, almost.

He hears me, head turning as I stand in front of the bars. 

„Are you that bored, Potter?“

His drawl lacks its usual bite. Maybe it's due to exhaustion. 

„Not as bored as you, probably. I have a killer to catch.“

A wry grin tugs on Malfoy's lips. „And you think you already have.“

„I'm not completely convinced.“

„And you're here because you think I'll confess? Think again.“

Malfoy turns his head away from me again, staring at the wall.  
„Did they give you something to eat?“

The Slytherin snorts, but doesn't look at me. „The carrot and stick approach won't work with me.“

„We're not in the Middle Ages. It's not like we're trying to starve you.“

Somehow, Malfoy seems to find that very amusing, in a dark, twisted kind of way. But I'm not sure I understand the joke.

I go and get a bottle of water and a sandwich for Malfoy. He ignores me when I come back and slide it through the bars.

Suddenly exhausted, I sit down in front of the bars. Now Malfoy has to look down on me. I bet he likes that.

„I'm not going to talk, Potter. You can stop trying.“

„You know, Malfoy. I don't think it was you.“

Malfoy doesn't bother answering. He's just sitting there, unmoving.

„But I don't know how your fingerprints got on the body and that's a problem.“

He still won't react and a pounding headache behind my forehead makes thinking hard. For a while, I'm just sitting there, the floor cold and hard under my butt, my knees starting to ache.

I don't know how much time has passed when Malfoy finally moves. He slides off the bed and takes the bottle of water.

By how he's chugging it, it becomes clear that he must have been terribly thirsty. 

„I didn't think I'd see you in here again,“ I confess.

Malfoy puts the empty bottle next to him on the thin mattress. „People never change, Potter.“

I frown, trying to catch his gaze, but he won't look at me. „I don't believe that's true. I know several people that have changed.“

„For the worse, perhaps.“

„Not only,“ I say, even though his words make me uncomfortable. Because it's true – it's easier to change for the worse than for the better.

I sometimes worry I've reached my peak at seventeen and now... it all just goes downhill.

I shake the thought, push Ginny's dooming marriage away and ask: „What's with the hair?“

Finally, I got Malfoy to look at me.  
„Excuse me?“

„You never wore it like that before.“

„I never wore it like that because my father would have thrown a fit.“

My eyebrows rise. „Your father had hair almost as long as yours is now.“

Malfoy looks away again. At his hands, this time. „It's different with me.“

„Why?“

Grey eyes pierce mine. There it is, that intense gaze I remember. „Never able to fight your curiosity, are you, Potter?“

I just shrug. We both know I'm not.

Ten minutes pass in silence. When Malfoy speaks up, I startle. His voice is softer than before.

„Why did you give me my wand back? After the trials. You didn't have to.“

„Well, because it's yours.“

Malfoy frowns, looking at me without hostility. „That's not a reason.“

„I think it is.“

He studies my face, then looks at his hands again. „You also... You spoke for me at the trials. I never understood.“

„Why I did it?“

The Slytherin nods, pushing strands of long blond hair behind his ear. „You hated me. I hurt you so often. Did so many terrible things. Why speak for me?“

I lean back on my hands. „Because I just wanted the war to be over. And also...“

Malfoy's eyes are on my face and I don't think he realizes how unguarded he looks right now. 

„You know, I think you mostly just did what you were told. And so was I.“ I look away this time. „It felt wrong to punish you for something I might have done as well.“

Malfoy doesn't say anything, so I'm alone with my anger. It's always simmering under the surface – this horrible anger. At Dumbledore, mostly. But also at all the people that left me and all the people that used me.

It's strange that Snape, a man I always have and always will resent for how he treated his students, had more compassion for me than Dumbledore did.

„It's a fucking shitty feeling. Looking back and realizing you were a puppet on a string,“ I say.

Malfoy's silence resonates with me in a way that makes me think he understands.

The next time I find myself sitting in front of Malfoy's cell is only two days later.

I hold out a bottle of water and wait until he grudgingly slides to the ground, sitting face to face with me, taking the bottle and glaring at me.

„Haven't you spent enough time today already interrogating me?“

His hair is tangled. Of course – he doesn't have his wand or a simple brush.

„It's not like I forget you're an Auror just because you show up alone,“ he reminds me.

I tilt my head.

„Why are you suddenly insisting someone pinned it on you? You've been so indifferent before.“

„Because it's the truth,“ Malfoy hisses, eyes gleaming.

I stay silent, watching him until he's squirming uncomfortably.

„That was a pretty dumb move, Malfoy. You must realize that you seem guiltier now than you did before. Now it seems like you've got something to hide. Like you're afraid we're going to figure out that you did it.“

„Well, someone pinning it on me is the only explaination.“

He's sullen. 

But he can't fool me. Even after all those years, I know him well.

„Do you _want_ us to think you're guilty?“

For just a moment, his mask is slipping. Then he puts it back on, firmly. „How daft could you be, Potter? No one wants to end up in Azkaban.“

„Well, I have good news for you, then. You're free to go.“

Malfoy stares at me. „Are you serious?“

I nod and get up, drawing me wand. A gentle tap against the lock, and the door opens. Malfoy doesn't walk out. He stands up and wraps his arms around his body.

„The forensics confirmed that you didn't cast any magic on Runcorn while he was alive. The bartender at the _Squid's_ confirmed that you were there between ten thirty and one a.m. on the night in question.“ I pause for a moment. „He said you left with a man and it was... obvious what you were about to get up to. That man wasn't Runcorn.“

Malfoy's eyes are flickering. His lips are slightly parted. I think I'm overwhelming him.

„And we still don't have anything to connect you to Runcorn, so... we can't keep you locked up any longer. You're free to go – but not free to leave London. When we call you in, you have to come, or we'll arrest you again.“

Finally, Malfoy snaps out of his stupor and walks out of the cell. 

I escort him out of the Ministry, glancing at him from time to time. 

It's obvious that Malfoy has something to hide. Luckily, I'm very good at discovering his secrets.

* * *

The night is young as I leave my flat. Usually, I start later, but three days in a cell means three days without payment and rent is due in a week.

Pansy hugs me goodbye, body warm as she kisses my cheek. She smells like grease. Waiting tables in Knockturn Alley doesn't pay well, but she's never going to be doing what I do. We've had that discussion before and it's one of the very few topics with which I don't let her win.

If the bitter cold greeting me had a body, it would be Aunt Bella's. I'm thinking about her quite a lot since I've started working at night. I don't know why, but somehow, those nights feel like her.

Cold and crazy.

My mother used to say that Bellatrix wasn't always like that – that Azkaban broke her. Part of me wonders if I should hope for my mother to die inside those grey walls. Better than coming back like Bellatrix.

The air inside the car is stuffy and too hot by the time I slip a handful of galleons in the small bag I always spell invisible. A big hand slaps my thigh.

„Thanks, pretty.“

I almost elbow the honk as I pull my jeans up.

„Anytime.“ With a seductive smirk, I get out of the car and throw the door shut behind me.

The wheels are screaching on the ashpalt as the bloke drives away, out of the secluded parking lot he took me on.

The ground is slippery from a thin layer of snow, not much more than a bit of frost, but I curse it anyway. I wouldn't be the first one to break my neck on the stones.

I'm shivering badly. My thin coat has nothing on the winter, the cold biting me. My hands are completely numb by the time I'm back in Knockturn Alley.

Men are passing me, many cars slowing, but not stopping. 

Usually, wizards don't drive. But some do when they're on the prawl, picking up pretty bags of bones on street corners.

I like cars, because they mean quick and dirty and simple. No special requests, no drawn out sessions. What you see is what you get.

Well, that's not quite right. A thick layer of make up is supposed to hide my identity, so no one actually knows who it is they're fucking. It usually works pretty well. No one would suspect that this starved whore with the curtain of long hair is Draco Malfoy.

Sometimes, I'm not so sure, either.

* * *

Researching Runcorn doesn't tell me anything I don't already know. He was an arsehole, but never a Death Eater.

He knew Lucius Malfoy, but not well. That is the only connection to Malfoy and it's not really one at all.

„He is not our guy,“ is what I say on a Friday night at the office.

Angelina frowns at me. Ron shifts in his chair and Ncuti drops his gaze. 

„His fingerprints are on his body. His magical signature as well. Those are facts, Harry. They mean something,“ Angelina says.

„Not necessarily that he killed the bloke,“ Ncuti chimes in. „He doesn't have a motive.“

„I know that.“ Angelina sounds exasperated.

„Maybe he's covering for someone else,“ Ron says. „There are a ton of people that had beef with Runcorn. Ex-colleagues. Muggleborns he sold out. Some ex-girlfriends he treated like shit.“

„But none of those people have any connection to Malfoy,“ I say.

„Perhaps he really told the truth. Someone's pinning it on him because he's an easy target,“ Ncuti says.

„Forging a magical signature, making it look like someone else's, is incredibly difficult,“ Angelina says, skepitcally. „The fingerprints, alright, not that hard. But the signature... The person would have to know Malfoy, at the very least have felt his magic.“

„Or they just used his wand,“ I suggest.

„Don't you think Malfoy would have told us if his wand would have been stolen?“ Ncuti frowns at me.  
„Maybe. Or maybe he didn't even notice. The person could have returned it in time.“

„So we're looking for someone with above average magical abilities, someone who had reason to kill Runcorn and contact to Malfoy,“ Ncuti summarizes.

„Sounds about right.“

Ron leans forward in his chair. „If you ask me, Malfoy's clients are a good place to start.“

I don't think of myself as someone with overly strict morals, not anymore, but rolling through Knockturn Alley in a borrowed car, past sleazy clubs and dark figures, makes me think I'm actually really innoccent.

It gets bad when people in very little clothing begin to appear at the sidewalk, hips jutted out, shivering in the cold. My hands grip the stearing wheel hard.

I'm not a good driver by any means – I only got my license because it's a requirement for Auror Training and after passing my test, I never sat behind a wheel again.

A jolt goes through me, my brain noticing something before having processed it.

As I see a slim figure only a couple metres away from me, a person that seems to consist entirely of hair and legs, my chest tightens.

I'm not sure how people usually go about this, so I just pull up on the curb (rather inelegantly) and lean over to push the door open.

I hold my breath as Malfoy approaches, slipping into the car with a grace that makes it obvious he has done this countless times before.

He turns to me – and startles, whips around. He almost make sit out, but I grab his wrist and pull him back. Then, because I don't know what else to do and I'm an arsehole, I start driving.

Malfoy is breathing heavily. His hands are white, gripping the seat.

„What the _fuck_ , Potter?“

„Um, hi.“

He stares at me as if I had lost my mind. Only now I notice that his face is full of make up. Red lips and eyes rimmed with black, his cheeks glittering. He looks – well. A slutty vampire princess comes to mind.

„Are you arresting me?“

I'm quick to shake my head. „No, no. Don't worry.“  
But my answer doesn't calm him. When he speaks again, his voice is icy. „I didn't know the Chosen One is bent.“

My eyes widen. Maybe letting him talk first, see if he's spilling something out of nervousness, was a stupid idea.  
„I'm not here for that, either.“

„Then you have to let me out right this instant.“

„I can't. I have some questions for you.“

„And those can't wait until tomorrow? I'm working.“

„I mean, if you'd rather go back to the Ministry -“

„Yes,“ Malfoy says, voice quiet. „I'd rather come in tomorrow.“

„I'll pay you for your time, if that's the problem.“

I'm not quite sure why I feel the need to do this now. If it's morbid curiosity about Malfoy. Or if I think he's more likely to talk if it's somehow off records. 

Malfoy is quiet for a moment. His hands let go of the seat and he folds them in his lap.

„Well, then. Let's get this over with.“

I take Malfoy to a bar that looks a little less shady than most here (at least to me) and when I hold the door for him, his eyebrow almost merges with his hairline.

It smells like smoke, a bit of Gillyweed, liquor and perfume. Not too bad, but I've never interrogated anyone with such a smell in my nose. But then again, this isn't really meant to be an interrogation. Not if we're right with our theory and I have a good feeling about this.

„What would you like to drink?“ I ask Malfoy when we're seated at a small table in the corner. I drop my glamour, because I hate it and hope that the dim lights and the location will protect me from the press. 

„Are you trying to get me drunk?“ he asks.

I'm distracted by his make up. He looks so different with it. Softer. Pretty.

„You're wasted after one drink?“

Just when I say it, I realize I might not be that far off. As skinny as Malfoy is, I wouldn't be surprised.

The Slytherin just glares at me. Then some of the fight fades away, but the caution, the mistrust stays.

„A firewhiskey, then.“

I order two firewhiskeys and a plate of fries. 

„So, Potter. What do you want to know?“

I tilt my head and study Malfoy's face for a moment, then say: „I want to ask you about your clients. Their relationship to Runcorn.“

He didn't see this coming, that much is obvious. 

„Why? You suspect one of my clients killed him?“

I merely shrug and try to stop being irritated by Malfoy's lashes. Painted black, I notice how long they are. How blond, usually.

„We're exploring different possibilities.“

Malfoy throws me a  _don't-pull-that-shit-with-me_ look and I roll my eyes, smiling just a little. „It's one theory. Assuming you weren't lying, of course.“

Our drinks arrive and Malfoy immediately takes a sip. He shudders and his eyes close in bliss for a moment. I realize he must have been cold as hell, perhaps he still is. I cast a discreet warming charm.

„So? Did any of your clients know Runcorn?“

Malfoy traces the rim of his glass with one finger, then looks at me. „I have had a lot of clients, Potter. I don't even remember all their names.“

I try not to let that throw me. Or get to me in any way. 

„Just tell me what you do remember. What comes to mind? Anyone?“

Malfoy takes his time to think about his. I'm aware that he could be telling me lies. He'd probably be the first one to pin it on one of his customers to get the Ministry off his own back.

But then again, I think I'm very good at telling when he's lying.

„There was one Ministry guy once... I think he used to work with Runcorn. Before Runcorn was fired, of course.“

„What was his name?“

Malfoy frowns, clearly trying to remember. „Carson... Miller? Smith? Something very generic.“

That won't help me much, but I jot it down anyway.

„Anyone else?“

Malfoy is already shaking his head, slowly, when his eyes suddenly light up. „Yes. Gabriel Flint.“

„Marcus Flint's father?“

Malfoy nods. „He bought me a couple times. At least five, maybe more. He only stopped coming about two weeks ago.“

„And he knew Runcorn?“

My pen is hovering over the paper, but my eyes are on Malfoy.

„He did. They were working together for quite a while. And I also remember... They had an argument, during a gathering at the Manor.“

„An argument? What kind of argument?“

„I don't know. Pansy and I only saw it in passing. We weren't overly keen on joining the festivities. Not if we didn't have to.“

„When was that?“

„Not long after the Dark Lord started his reign.“

So pretty long ago. That's unusual, but it doesn't necessarily have to mean anything.

„Thanks, Malfoy. That was helpful.“

The Slythering cocks his head and takes a sip from his whiskey. His long fingers loosely wrapped around the glass, he says: „I'll gladly talk shit about possible subjects.“

I smile. „Not keen on being back in that holding cell?“

„Salazar, no.“

He drains his glass and I follow his example.

„Anything else?“ the blond asks. I blink, startled. 

„Um, no.“

„Alright. Then -“

„The fries. You can't leave before the fries are here.“

Once again, Malfoy's eyebrow threatens to melt into his hair. „Those are yours.“

„I bought them for both of us. So you wouldn't say I was trying to get you pissed.“

Malfoy hesitates. I can see how he's assessing me. Trying to work out what I want. My ulterior motive.

It makes me feel a bit stupid, but I don't back down.

„No hidden agenda, Malfoy. I got what I wanted. I just... I ordered fries for us and I want to share them with you. That okay?“

„Is there no one else for you to share your fries with other than a Knockturn whore?“ Malfoy's voice is quiet. I think he goes for mocking, but ends up sounding more incredulous.

I shrug and push my glass aside. „Maybe I like Knockturn whores.“  
Malfoy's brows shoot up. He leans back. „I see.“

His voice is cool and I hastily blurt: „Not like that. I didn't mean it that way.“

Malfoy relaxes again – at least halfway. I think I have yet to see him fully relaxed.

„Why don't you hate me anymore?“ he asks, sounding curious. „What has changed since Hogwarts?“

„Everything?“

That has Malfoy looking down. „Yes, I... assume there is some truth to that.“

He sounds whistful. For a moment, I wonder what it must have been like. Living in a Manor like a prince, king of Slytherin, then going through a war that spits you out on Knockturn Alley, a little bit of red lipstick to pave the way.

I'm not sure I have it in me to feel pity for anything but the very last part. I have a hard time feeling compassion toward people who grow up in a loving family and then have it ripped away from them. I always think  _but at least you had them. Had that_ . But that's probably just me being incredibly self-centered.

„Do you hate me?“ I ask him.

Malfoy's grey eyes look like milky glass with all the eyeliner. 

„No. I never really hated you.“

I could ask why. Why not. And why he pretended he did. But I don't. Maybe someday.

Tonight, I won't ask him to strip bare for me. I know how uncomfortable that is.

The waiter brings our fries and I have to tell Malfoy three times to dig in before he does.

„Already finished with Auoror training at twenty-one. Impressive, Potter,“ Malfoy says as we order another round of firewhiskey. I shrug, brushing it off.

„They needed to replace all the Aurors that were working under Thicknesse aka Voldemort. That's why they pushed it all a bit.“

Malfoy pops a fry into his mouth. „I think you're being humble.“

He's licking salt from his index finger. It slips into his mouth, pale skin a stark contrast to his red lips.

The temperature seems to have risen by a couple degrees as I look away. The smoke in the air is making my chest feel uncomfortably tight.

„Why did you move in with Parkinson?“ I ask.

Malfoy's face hardens a fraction. „We both didn't have any money. We still don't. So we stuck together and try to make it work.“

I finish my last fry and wipe my hands on my napkin. „Weren't you dating in Hogwarts?“

Malfoy smiles, just a little. „She was my beard for a while. So, yes. I assume we were dating.“

„You... so you're gay.“

The look Malfoy throws me is hilarious. I'm torn between wanting to burst out laughing and wishing for the ground to swallow me whole.

„Yes, Potter. Good job. That was an impressive deduction.“

„Oh, fuck off.“ I look away, cheeks flaming. „I thought maybe you just did this for, you know. The money.“  
„Paint my face or fuck men?“

The heat in my face sticks. „Um, both?“

„Well, I do it for the money. But I'm still gay.“

I drain my firewhiskey and order another one. „What's it like?“

I'm pretty sure this is the alcohol making me bold. 

„Being gay?“

I shake my head. „Selling sex.“

Malfoy freezes for a moment. Then he lifts a shoulder. Slowly lets it drop. „It pays the bills. Most of the time.“

„So you don't enjoy it?“

„More than starving to death.“

„Is there nothing else you could do?“

Malfoy does his halfshrug again. His eyes are glazed from alcohol. „Nothing that would make enough money to survive.“

„Hermione said not all sex workers hate it,“ I muse. „But I always thought no one could ever enjoy being... used like that.“

Malfoy drains his third drink. „Some do,“ he says. „I do not.“

He catches my look and sighs. „No, Potter. You're being judgemental. Sex work isn't always the same. Maybe I'd like it if I was a high end escort and able to choose my clients. Or, like, stripping could be fun, I guess. But freezing your arse of in a dirty alley... not so great.“  
I'm aware he wouldn't tell me any of this if he wasn't pissed and I feel bad. But I'm drunk, too, so all I say is: „Harry.“

„What?“

„Call me Harry.“

Malfoy snorts. „I'm a suspect in a murder case and you want me to call you by your first name?“

„Yeah.“

Grey, pretty dazed eyes sweep over my face. „Alright, Harry. If you so wish.“

I walk him home, because I can't drive and I can't apparate. The air is cold and he's shivering despite the booze. At some point, I find myself having an arm wrapped around his bony shoulders. We both pretend as if I didn't.

„Here,“ I say as we reach Malfoy's house. I push a handful of galleons into his hand. 

Malfoy blinks slowly. „You want to...?“

„Oh – no. We said, you know. I occupied your time? So...“

„Ah, yes. Right.“

He drops his gaze to the money I just handed him. „That's too much, Potter.“

„Harry.“

„It's way too much, Harry.“

I flap my hand, fighting the strange urge to push his hair back. Tangle my fingers in it. It's just the booze making me touchy.

„Keep it. It's fine.“

Malfoy hesitates, hand open. I close his fingers. They're still cold, despite my warming charms.

„Good night, Draco,“ I say.

He blinks at me, his mascara a bit smudged. „Good night.“


	2. Chapter 2

Gabriel Flint's record is far from clean. Two years in Azkaban for his crimes in the War and Angelina says that was only because still, after everything, he had allies in the Ministry.

There are no official connections, but with not too much digging, we manage to confirm Draco's words. Flint did work with Runcorn and he was always present at the parties at the Manor.

On a Wednesday afternoon, Ron and I show up at Daisy Greengrass's door. She used to be Flint's lawyer and she was also good friends with Narcissa Malfoy. Like her, Greengrass never took the mark and since her husband also wasn't a big figure during the war, she got off easy, with nothing more than six months of detention.

The house the Greengrasses live in smells like money, but I have to admit that it's pretty. Ron looks up as the white facade, frowning lightly.

„How do they still have such a shit ton of money?“

„The Ministry didn't confiscate it because they stayed as neutral as possible without breaking ties with the Malfoys.“

Ron rolls his eyes. „Neutral, my arse.“ He climbs the porch and knocks on the door.

The door is opened by a witch that must be over sixty, but looks stunning still. Somehow, the wrinkles on her face make her only seem more regal. Not in such an aloof way like Narcissa Malfoy though. She almost reminds me of Andromeda.

„Auror Weasley and Auror Potter,“ Ron says, flashing his badges. Daisy Greengrass nods, only a slight bow of her head.

„Come in, please.“ We follow her through a broad hallway into a huge living room. „Would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea?“

„Coffee would be nice,“ Ron says and we sit down on a plush, grey sofa.

When Greengrass is back with delicate cups of coffee, I take out my notebook. Ron is taking the lead in the interview today.

„We're here to ask you a few questions about Albert Runcorn and Gabriel Flint. You're not a suspect, nor are you being appointed, so it's your right to choose not to answer. Okay?“

Daisy smiles. „Yes. Go ahead, young man.“

Ron gives her a look and she shifts his weight, an almost imperceptible sign of uncomfortableness. „I'd prefer it if you addressed me with Auror Weasley, Mrs. Greengrass.“

„Of course. My apologies.“

„Alright. Why don't you start by telling us your relationship with both Runcorn and Flint?“

Greengrass doesn't tell us anything new – she knows Flint quite well. Runcorn not as well, but she met him several times.

„Gabriel and Albert have never friends, but they were colleagues, so they spent much time together.“

„Were they friendly?“ 

Greengrass hesitates. „Most of the time, yes. But...Well, to be frank, it was an open secret that Albert fancied Gabriel's wife. That always caused some tension.“

My interest is peaked. „To your knowledge, has anything ever happened between Mrs. Flint and Runcorn?“

Greengrass shakes her head decisively. „No. Laila is a good wife. She loved her husband and would have never cheated on him.“

I don't even have to look at Ron to know what he's thinking.

Flint has been in Azkaban for two full years. If his wife was ever attracted to Runcorn, then that would have been the perfect time to act on it. And if Flint found out about it...

Ron asks Greengrass a couple more questions, but nothing interesting comes out. It's all about business deals and parties Runcorn hadn't been invited to. Nothing serious that would make Flint think of murder.

„Thank you for your time,“ Ron says and we both shake the witch's hand and let her show us out.

As soon as she has shut the door behind us, I turn to Ron.

„Next stop, Flint's wife?“ he asks.

It turns out that Greengrass's revelation was enough luck for one day. The Flints aren't in London. Their house is empty. I send an owl and Ron drags me to the next small restaurant. 

„I'm starving,“ he says as we drop down at a sturdy table with sticky menus. We order burgers and while we wait, I say: „Flint could really be it. Jealousy after an affair is often a motive for murder.“

„Yeah, it does sound promising. But let's not think too easy. I mean, it's less likely, but if Mrs. Flint really did sleep with Runcorn, she's a possible subject as well. We don't know what their relationship was like.“

I frown, my leg jiggling. „What do you think might have been her motive?“

Ron shrugs. „Don't know. Maybe it was a one time thing while she was pissed and afterward, Runcorn pressured her to tell her husband. Leave Flint for him. I'm just saying, it's too early to narrow our focus completely down to Flint.“

Our burgers arrive and Ron's eyes light up. „Bloody hell, thank Merlin.“

„I hear you,“ I say after we both took some huge bites. „But most times, the most obvious theory is the right one.“

Ron looks at me wryly, sauce dripping over his fingers. „The most obvious theory is Malfoy did it. But you seem to be very convinced it wasn't him.“

I look at my food.

„It just feels wrong. Too many things don't fit, you know? There's no motive. And I just don't think Dr- Malfoy would be too stupid to erase at least some of the traces he left.“

„I disagree. We both have first hand experience of Malfoy losing his head under pressure. That necklace back in Sixth? The wine that almost killed me? Malfoy cracks easily. He gets careless.“

I bite my lip. „And he's also not a killer.“

„I _just_ reminded you that he almost killed two people.“

Ron's burger is hovering in the air, half forgotten because I'm defending Draco. 

„Yeah, okay – yes. But Runcorn's death is different. It was planned and executed without hesitation. I just don't see Malfoy acting like that.“

Ron wobbles his head, thinking. „I mean, it would be like him to pussy out last minute. But... I'm just saying, I'm not as sure as you are that it wasn't him.“

I take another bite, mostly so I won't have to say any more. When I've swallowed, I say: „Let's just talk to Flint and then decide.“

I usually find ways to justify my stalking tendencies when it comes to Draco. In school, it was never all that difficult. 

But right now, it's not as easy. I know that there is no logical reason for me to be back in a car, driving down Knockturn Alley, looking for a very specific head of blond hair.

I'm here anyway. And since I can't justify it, I just stop thinking about it.

Draco isn't where he was last time. I reach the end of the street, some eyes following me, but Draco isn't anywhere to be seen.

Maybe that's a sign from the universe that I should just let it be. Draco and I got pissed together once. We agreed that we don't hate each other.

That doesn't mean we're suddenly friends.

I park the car and stop the engine, rubbing my face. Instead of cruising dark alleys, I should just go home and deal with the fact that my ex is now marrying one of my dearest friends like an adult.

Or, if I'm that desperate, I should go to a club and find someone to shag for the night.

_Yeah, right. Because I'm so fucking good at that._

Ginny is still the only person I have ever been with. I honestly don't know why. But something keeps me from pulling someone. I'd say I'm too shy, too awkward, but that's not really it.

I sigh and grab the key, ready to drive off, when I see him in the side mirror.

He gets out of a car not far behind me. His hair is a _mess_ and as he walks away, toward my car, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like a child would do.

I don't know why I feel like someone just shot me.

I wait until he has almost reached me before I get out of the car.

It's a risk, I know that, exposing myself here, like this. It could very well make it into the papers tomorrow. But if it will, then I'll get over it. As long as they don't photograph me shagging, I can deal with it.

Draco stops the second he sees me. His lipstick is smudged.

„What do you want?“ His voice is so sharp that I almost miss the tinge of pink on his cheeks. He's embarrassed.

„Talk to you,“ I say, leaning against my car. My heart is pounding. I wish he'd come closer, but I'm scared of approaching him. He might run.

„About what?“

He looks to the side. His fingers are carding through his hair, trying to detangle it. When he realizes how bad the mess is, he draws his wand. A flick later, his hair is shiny and straight again.

„We'll talk to Flint soon. He might be a suspect.“

I shouldn't tell him that. It's wrong and even dangerous. But somehow, it doesn't feel dangerous.

„That's good.“ 

Even under his annoyance, I can tell he means it. Of course he does. If we arrest Flint, he doesn't have to worry anymore.

„Do you want to drive for a while?“ I ask.

Draco stares at me. „Is that code for shagging me in your car?“

I shake my head. 

„I'm working, Potter. How many more times do I need to say that?“

„I can pay you for the time.“

„I don't want your money.“

I swallow. Nod. Turn back to my car, open the door and slide inside.

I've already started the engine when Draco slips on the passenger's seat. 

„Don't ask,“ he says as I grin at him, eyes wide. I just nod and start driving.

For a while, we don't talk at all. I stop at a drive-through and buy some fries. Again.

Only when Draco has eaten half of them, he finally says something.

„What about Weaslette?“ he asks. 

„We broke up.“

„When?“

„Two years ago.“

I hesitate, then curse myself and sit a little straighter. „I mean, she broke up with me.“

Draco glances at me sideways. I roll into a parking lot and we finish the fries. When he's done, he uses the mirror to vanish the grease on his fingers and set his lipstick to rights again.

„Have you always worn make up?“ I ask.

„Define always?“

„I don't know. At home. When you weren't at school.“

Draco snorts. „Are you mad? Of course not. My father would have killed me.“

„Do you only wear it when you're working?“

„Mostly.“

I'm looking at him sitting shotgun, his profile nearly perfect. It's hard not to reach out and touch him.

Something in Draco's eyes shifts. „I thought you weren't planning on shagging me in your car.“

His voice is low. Soft.

My breath catches in my too tight chest.

„I wasn't. I'm not.“

Draco lifts his brow. I stop breathing altogether when his hand touches my thigh. Slowly, so slowly creeping higher.

„Oh, but I think you are.“

Scraping up all of my willpower, I catch his wrist, stopping the ascend of his hand.

„Fucking me won't make you any less suspicious, Draco. It won't help you.“

„I thought you think I didn't do it.“

The blond leans closer until I can feel his breath ghosting over my jaw. My heart is slamming in my ribcage, so hard, I'm afraid I might pass out from it. Without really wanting to, I loosen my grip on Draco's fingers. He's drawing lazy circles on my thigh and I know he sees how hard I am.

Red lips graze my jaw. I swallow hard.

„Draco, I – stop. If you're doing this to save your neck, just...“

With a super human effort, I pull away far enough to think and look into his face. „I already think you're innoccent,“ I say, voice pathetically breathless. „You don't have to fuck me first.“

When Draco's face softens, it's all I can do to keep from grabbing him, pulling him into my lap.

It turns out I don't have to. As elegantly as at all possible in a car, Draco climbs into my lap. His weight on my erection is almost enough to make me come on the spot. 

The Slytherin's low laugh in my ear doesn't make it better.

When he starts kissing my neck, rolling his hips, I lose my mind. My hands fly to his back, caressing it. Slipping under his shirt.  
Draco arches his back, pressing his body into me and it's too much and not nearly enough.

„I – You – This is not...“ I can't think.

„Use your words, Potter.“

That's not an easy task with Draco's fingers working my fly open.

„You don't want me to pay for it, do you?“ I blurt out.

For a second the fingers stop. Grey eyes find mine. „No, I don't. Unless you want to pay.“

„No. I don't want to pay you. I want – Do you want it?“

Draco's smile is almost soft. „Yes.“

I'm gone when Draco wraps his hand around my cock. When he slides down, and we fumble with the seat to get it further back, I laugh and he does, too, a light, almost shy and deadly sexy sound.

„Oh my _God_ ,“ I choke out as I watch Draco kissing my belly, then mouthing at my cock. He blinks up at me, smirking.

My hands find his head, his silky hair. When he starts sucking me, my head falls back. My fingers tighten.

„Jesus,“ I breathe.

Draco is obviously an expert and I didn't get laid in two years, so I come after thirty seconds. It takes Draco by surprise – I think he was just getting started – and my head must be red as a traffic light while I stammer apologies.

Draco gets up and into my lap again, grinning. 

„Sorry,“ I say once again, weakly. „It's been a while.“

„I could tell.“

He grins again and I reach out and touch his cheek. He goes still as I trace his lips. I try wiping away the (once again) smudged lipstick, but I can't. Then I try not to think about that Draco blew someone else just hours ago.

I pull him even closer. My eyes drop to his lips.

„Can I kiss you?“

It feels weird to ask that after just having his mouth on my cock, but somehow, I feel like I need special permission for this. Draco nods and I think his heart is beating faster.

With one hand on the back of his neck, I tilt my head up while angling his down and then we're kissing. It's timid at first, a hot brush of lips, but then we melt into each other and I slip my tongue into his mouth. His arms are wrapping around my head and we kiss and moan and touch.

I can feel Draco hard against my belly and it makes my own cock twitch again. I lick his neck and Draco tilts his head back, giving me better access.

„I want to wank you,“ I say against his skin, then biting very lightly.

„Yeah,“ he breathes.

I need a moment to get his jeans open, but in the end, I manage.

I've never did this to another guy before. Never touched another man's cock. I honestly never thought it's something I'd enjoy, but, Jesus. How I enjoy it.

He's hard and silky-smooth under my fingers as I stroke him.

„You can go harder,“ Draco says, his fingers gripping my shoulders. I comply and when he comes, he arches his back, baring his throat. It's so sexy that I think I might be able to go again.

When the tremors stop, he rests his forehead on my shoulder. I stroke his neck. Kiss his temple.

One of my hands slides over his thigh and I'm struck by another surge of white-hot want. I imagine pushing those thighs apart. Gripping them when I push inside his tight body.

„Not enough?“ Draco asks, forehead still on my shoulder.

I almost say yes, but then I change my mind. The man in my arms right now is clearly tired. His hair is tickling my cheek and it makes me smile.

„No. But yes. For tonight.“

Draco lifts his head. Looks at me with one eyebrow arched. „You want to do this again?“

I swallow. Eyes searching his face. „You don't?“

He hesitates. „Why?“ he finally asks.

It sounds more open, more honest than anything I have heard from him.

„Because I want you.“

Draco frowns as if that would be completely absurd. „Does that thrill you, getting it for free while everyone else has to pay?“

He sounds suspicious. I flinch. „No.“ It comes out sharper than I anticipated. „No,“ I try again, softer this time. I drape one arm around him. The other comes up and finally pushes his glorious hair out of his face. 

Irritated and maybe a little flushed, Malfoy looks to the side. „Alright, Potter. If you're so desperate.“

I don't tell Ron about what happened between Draco and I. It's not easy, since I usually tell Ron everything.

But I'm well aware what he'd think about this. It would be bad enough if Draco were just a suspect in a case. But he's Draco Malfoy on top of that. Ron would throw a fit and I couldn't blame him.

„Flint will be back tomorrow,“ Ron says when I walk into the office, thinking of fair skin and long hair.

„Oh, good. We'll interrogate his wife first?“

Ron nods, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth.

* * *

„Are you fucking with me?“

Pansy stares at me, eyes wide. Suspicious and elated. 

I shake my head, sliding under the sheets with her. „If I wasn't confunded by someone, no.“

A mad grin spreads over Pansy's face. „You fucked Harry Potter. I can't believe it.“

Neither can I, to be honest. I didn't think he'd want me that way.

„Don't get too excited,“ I warn her. „I don't think a bit of fucking will keep him from arresting me if he thinks I'm guilty.“

Pansy strokes my hair and I smile. „But he won't think that.“ She patiently detangles a knot, then says: „If he wants to again, will you?“

I shift a little. Sigh. „I guess. It would be stupid not to.“

Pansy waits, sensing I'm not done yet. „And it was actually pretty good,“ I say into pillow.

Pansy laughs, a rough, yet somehow melodic sound. „Who'd have thought.“

I'm grinning now. „I mean, he came after thirty seconds.“

Pansy almost chokes on her laughter. „For real?“

I nod, feeling drowsy and warm. „Yes. But he smells very nice, so that's okay.“

„Probably the first time he ever got his dick sucked by a guy,“ Pansy muses, hands still carding through my hair. I hum affirmatively, sleep pulling on my tired limbs.

„I have to go now. Work calls.“ Pansy's voice is dripping with sarcasm. She hates her job, but beggars can't be choosy.

„See you later,“ I murmur. I hardly notice her kissing me on the head. 

„Until later, love.“

* * *

It's obvious that the Flints' reputation has suffered after the war. Rightfully so, of course. The house they're living in looks run-down, the colours faded.

Laila Flint doesn't match that look at all. She's younger than Greengrass. Her hair is artfully curled and she's wearing heavy make up.

„Come in,“ she says and those two words are enough to let me know that this will not be easy. She's reserved and she clearly doesn't trust us one bit.

She leads us into the living room, clean as it gets, but the fallen-from-grace stains are all over the room.

Without offering us something to drink, she sits down in an armchair, rather stiffly. Ron and I take a seat on the sofa, both perched on the edge.

„How can I help you?“ she asks.

„Mrs. Flint, how well did you know Albert Runcorn?“ I ask.

Not a muscle in her face twitches. „As well as you know someone you see every other month. Not very well.“

„But your husband knew him quite well, didn't he? They worked together.“

„That's correct. But they weren't friends.“

Ron sits up a little straighter. „Is it true that there was a time Runcorn was interested in you? Romantically speaking.“

The witch closes off even more. Her face is a stone wall.

„I don't think so.“

„Are you sure?“ I pry.

„Yes, I am.“

„Do you know why your husband and Runcorn never got along all that well?“

A very slight curl to her upper lip is the only sign of emotion Mrs. Flint shows.

„Not really. But Gabriel doesn't like a lot of people. And Albert didn't always see eye to eye with him when it came to work.“

My gaze is temporarily caught by a remarkably ugly vase on a small table behind Mrs. Flint. I blink and ask: „Did they argue often? Especially at Lucius Malfoy's parties?“

Mrs. Flint gives me a cool look.

„They did argue from time to time. As I said – it wasn't unusual for them to bud heads over this or that. Nothing serious, though.“

Ron tilts his head, puffing out his chest subtly. He's trying to intimidate her, but I don't think it will work.

„Why would anyone say that Runcorn fancied you, Mrs. Flint?“

The witch meets his gaze with cold eyes, unimpressed. „I don't have any idea, Auror Weasley.“

The night is not yet fading into grey morning light. It's the darkest hour, on the verge of tilting.

I'm sitting in my car with Draco on the passenger's seat. He has his legs tucked under, facing me, head leaning heavily against the seat.

Even after three strong warming charms, I'm still somehow afraid he might freeze to death right next to me. His skin was ice when I picked him up.

He wasn't too happy over my appearance. Or maybe he just wasn't too happy about me seeing him stumbling out of another car.

I watch the rise and fall of his chest. His hair is covering half of his face, one single strand moved by his small puffs of breath.

He fell asleep the moment he shut his mouth, cutting off the string of complaints about me.

I drive him home and get lost on the way three times. I really am not used to getting around in a car.

When I pull up in front of Draco's house, the Slytherin stirs. I touch his shoulder.

„Draco? We're home.“

The blond blinks slowly. Not yet back to reality.

I get out and then skirt the car, opening the door for him. Draco's eyes are bloodshut. I take his hand, tugging.

„Where are you taking me?“ he says, eyelids dropping. His hand is lifeless in mine.

„Nowhere. Back to your flat.“

Draco trips. I catch him. Lift him and carry him to the front door. His head is a heavy weight on my shoulder.

I ring the doorbell, starting to tremble under Draco's bodyweight. Even though he weighs nothing. But I don't really work out much, so he feels heavy enough to me.

The door opens surprisingly fast. 

I almost collapse on the stairs, but driven by pure force of will, I make it up.

Parkinson is standing in the doorframe, wearing nothing but a baggy shirt. Her short bob is messed up, but her eyes are wide awake.

„Draco!“

Her gaze zooms in on me, sharp as a razor. „What did you do to him?“

„Nothing,“ I say, slightly offended that that's her first thought. I just carried him all the way up here, for fuck's sake.

„I think he's just tired. And has been out for a bit too long.“

Parkinson steps aside and follows me as I drop Draco as gently as possible on the bed of the one room flat.

I linger over him. Maybe I should take off his shoes. I should definitely tuck him in, I...

„Thanks, Potter.“

Pansy's voice is a clear warning. 

I step back.

While Pansy takes off Draco's shoes, whispers something to him, pets his hair, I look around the room.

There isn't much to see. A tiny kitchen. A gangly table with two chairs, one of which only has three legs. One bed.

„You sleep in the same bed?“

Parkinson shoots me a look. „Do you have a problem with that?“

„No, I...“

The witch gets up, one hand on Draco's shoulder.

„You should better go now.“

Her voice is like the blade of a razor. I shift my weight and meet her gaze. 

„I didn't do this,“ I blurt out. „Hurt Draco, I mean. I only drove him home. I swear.“

Parkinson looks at me for a long moment. I'm not sure she believes me.

I come in late for work, having had only two hours of sleep. Without breakfast or even coffee, I meet Ron in front of the Ministry.

The ginger frowns at me. „Why do you look like you spent your night with a bottle of Odgen's finest?“

I catch my breath and smile crookedly. „Maybe I have.“

Ron's brows lift. „Should I be worried, mate?“

I shake my head. „Let's go get Flint.

The tension in the room is palpable. Gabriel Flint is staring at me from across the table.

„Why are you asking me about that little blood traitor now?“

Azkaban hasn't done Flint any good. It carved out the lines of his face and drew harsh wrinkles around his mouth, hollowed his eyes and thinned his hair. But it obviously didn't make him humble.

„Please just answer the question,“ I say.

It's not easy, sitting on a table with a man that laughed while I was screaming in pain as a fourteen-year-old.

Flint's eyes sweep over my face, then over Ron's. He leans back, crossing long arms.

„I assume you already know I've fucked him.“

I take a measured breath. Flint cocks his head. 

„He's a whore now. Plenty of men have had a go at him.“

„What is your personal relationship with Malfoy?“ Ron asks, ignoring the filthy grin on Flint's face.

The man laughs.

„My personal relationship with Malfoy? I like fucking him to tears.“

My pen drops. Only Ron's firm hand on my knees stops me from lunging at Flint.

Flint sobers. „Malfoy knows I hate him. Dirty little bastard escaped Azkaban and is now whoring himself out on the streets. He's a disgrace to the Malfoy name. To all purebloods.“

I keep my temper under control. With a little bit of luck, we can arrest Flint today.

„But why are we talking about Malfoy anyway? I thought you're here because of Runcorn.“

Flint already admitted that Runcorn and him have never been the best of friends, but aside that, nothing interesting. He claims he hasn't seen him in years.

„You said that your relationship with Runcorn has been tense. Why is that?“ 

A muscle on Flint's jaw twitches.

„I said we were always just friendly. Sometimes disagreed on work issues. Nothing more.“

I take a moment to think of a new approach, but Ron beats me to it. Leaning forward on his elbows, Ron asks: „Isn't it true that Runcorn fucked your wife, Flint?“

Flint goes white as a ghost. Ron's eyes narrow slightly, his voice drops.

„And isn't it true that they did it while you were locked up in Azkaban? Do you think they laughed about you while they were going at it?“

„Shut up!“ Flint says. His hands are shaking.

But Ron isn't done yet.

„Did they do it in your marriage bed?“

The explosion surprises none of us, so when Flint howls and attacks Ron, we have him constrained in no time.

„You're under arrest for attacking an authority and suspicion of the murder of Albert Runcorn,“ Ron informs Flint, who is still trying to land a punch in Ron's face.


	3. Chapter 3

I can't feel my lips. My lashes are like icicles.

Hooking in December really isn't any fun. I haven't even had one john yet, and I'm already seriously contemplating if I should just go home for the night.

Freezing to death out here will help no one.

I comb through my hair, hardly feeling it at all. Maybe my fingers are already dead, who knows.

„Draco!“

I jump and turn. Harry is making his way over to me and I wonder if I could somehow get away with strangling the Chosen One.

„Would you _please_ not shout my name here?“ I hiss when he's made his way over to me.

He blinks, mouth twisting sheepishly. „Oh, yeah. Sorry.“

His hair is a mess and his green eyes are shining in triumph.

„What?“ I ask, crossing my arms to keep out the cold.

Harry just smiles and shakes his head, still incredibly smug. Then something in his expression changes. Something darker, hotter flickers in his eyes. The same heat ignites behind my navel.

„I see.“ I raise my brow, trying for amused, but I think he sees that I want this as much as he does.

Insane as it is. 

But I've always been a stupid slag for Potter, from the moment on I first saw him as this scrawny child, bony wrists poking out of baggy jumpers. Atrocious glasses attempting to hide striking eyes.

„Come with me.“ He turns and heads to the next apparition point. I follow him, not afraid, but at least aware that I should be.

There is a reason why I usually don't go home with clients. It's too dangerous.

But this is Harry and I have the stupid feeling that I _know_ him. That I can take whatever he might dish out.

„Ready?“

I just arch my eyebrow and hold on to his arm. Together, we spin into darkness.

The first thing I notice is the warmth as we land on a ragged rug. Before I have a chance to take in my surroundings, Harry is on me, pressing me against the door.

His mouth is so hot on my cold lips. I can't get enough.

We kiss without finesse, biting at each other, hands groping and pulling. Desire is building in my belly so quickly that I'm getting all dizzy from it.

My hands are clawing at Harry's shoulders while he clumsily opens my trousers, trying to wrestle them down.

„Potter.“ I say it against his ear, fingers still on his shoulder. He yanks on the trousers, doesn't know how to take off skinny jeans, apparently. „Harry,“ I say and he stops.

„Yeah?“

Green eyes are clouded with lust. He's mad for it. My heart is pounding in my chest as I push him away so that I can shimmy out of my jeans. Harry is staring at me as they're pooling around my ankles. I smirk and step out of them.

„Fuck.“

„That's the idea, yes.“ I can't help but smile.

With a groan, Harry crowds in close again, catching me by my thighs. Hauling me up. Sweet desire is burning in my chest as he pushes me against the door, fumbling his zipper open with one hand.

„I never really -“ His words against my neck. A blush on his cheeks.

„Do you want to fuck me, Harry?“

My fingers card through his hair. His are bruising my thigh and I want him to grip harder. To mark me.

He bites down on my collarbone, getting a mouthful of T-Shirt fabric. I draw my wand and cast non-verbal protection spells. Then I slick myself because Harry seems completely out of it. He'd probably come rutting against me, but _I_ won't come from that.

„I want you inside me,“ I purr, trying to remind him what the plan was. Well, at least _my_ plan.

He moans, broken. Desperate. His hips push against me. He's rock-hard in his pants, so hard it must hurt.

„Yeah,“ he breathes and starts fumbling around. One hand finds my entrance. Feels the wetness there.

He blushes, mouth open. Looks at me. I lean forward and catch his bottom lip between my teeth.

„Do I need to, like – prep? Do you want - ?“

I shake my head. „Just fuck me, Harry. Fuck me _hard_.“

With nervous hands, he starts fumbling, trying to get into position.

I think Harry Potter is a virgin. At least when it comes to guys. Definitely when it comes to anal sex.

Part of me wants to make fun of him, but another, way bigger part is so turned on that I'm ready to say anything, do anything, just to have him finally put it in.

„Sorry, I -“ He trails off as he pushes inside me. My mouth falls open on a gasp. It feels amazing, it feels...

He goes too fast. „Stop,“ I hiss, fingers digging into his biceps.

„Sorry,“ he whispers, stopping completely.

I roll my eyes. „Keep going. But not that fast. Not all at once.“

He does as I say and his eagerness to please me makes me so hot that I almost tell him to forget it and just fuck me until I'm crying.

It doesn't take long until he bottoms out. We're both panting. I lock my legs around his waist, one arm slung around his neck, the other hand fisted into the back of his jacket.

He's still fully clothed.

„Now _move_ , Potter.“

He does. His thrusts aren't following a rhythm at first. I moan when he finds my prostate by accident, toes curling. Heat is shooting into my thighs.

„Fuck, Draco,“ Harry sighs, breathing through his mouth. „You feel so fucking good.“

I grin. I know I do. But his words still move something inside me.

I hold him a little tighter and he licks at my neck, curious and... devoted. I run my hand over his back.

„Harder,“ I say and he complies until finally, he has the words fucked out of me and I can only moan, louder and louder, as he slams me against the wall. My eyes roll back.

„Oh my God, I'll – I'll...“ Harry's hips are whipping and I know he's almost there.

But so am I. Just a little longer... „Slower,“ I say and I can feel he's trying, but he can't. He's coming inside me on a low groan and I hold him. It's hard not to kiss his temple. It feels like the natural thing to do.

„Jesus,“ he breathes, head buried in my neck, prick still inside me. When he lets me down, slipping out of me, I'm worried for a moment my legs won't carry me. But they do, reliable as always.

„Sorry,“ Harry says as I'm now looking up at him again. He apologizes way too often. „I wanted you to come first. Really, I'm sorry, I just...“ He laughs, embarrassed. „You were so amazing. I've never...“

I grin. „I forgive you.“

I want to pull up my trousers, but Harry stops my hands. My gaze snaps up, sharp and on-guard.

Men not letting me out of their (metaphorically speaking) bed are often dangerous.

„Potter.“ 

My voice as a knife makes Harry flinch. He quickly pulls his hand back. „I just – Can I make you come?“

I slowly lean back against the wall, both brows raised. A smile is playing around my lips.

„I don't know, Potter. Can you?“

He blushes a little, but his smirk is almost confident. A few more good fucks and he'll be an awesome shag.

„I bet.“

I brush some imaginary dust off my shirt and mime indifference. My stiff cock a stark contrast.

„How will you make me come, then?“

Harry swallows. His hands settle on my hips. They're large and my arousal spikes.

Whenever someone calls me a whore, they're right. It's not something I'm proud of. Not something I like about myself.

But I'm a slut for men stronger than me, men that will toss me around and _use_ me.

Maybe that's just a result of my fucked-upness. But no matter where it comes from – it's fucking hot.

Harry doesn't catch that though, because he says. „However you want me to.“

His voice is breathless and spontaniously, I decide that this is nice, too. People are so rarely sweet to me. 

Might as well take advantage of it.

„I want your mouth,“ I say, putting a finger to his lips. His breath hitches and I fully expect him to back out. I'm almost positive he has never sucked a dick before.

But Harry surprises me.

„Okay.“

Without much grace, he sinks to his knees in front of me. That alone is enough to make me even harder.

Harry looks up at me with those glorious eyes of his, glasses forgotten on the floor next to him.

„Scared, Potter?“ I ask.

I mock him. Dare him to back out.

But I also have a gentle hand in his hair.

Harry grins. „You wish.“

He starts slow and then he goes too fast, almost choking on my cock. I come quickly – not for his horrible technique, but for the sounds he makes. For the way he sometimes looks up at me. When he tentatively slips a hand between my thighs, finger searching for my hole, I lose it and shoot all over his face.

He gets up, legs stiff. My heart is hammering as we're staring at each other, his face full of my spunk, his hands on my hips. My hands on his chest.

I clear my throat. „Tergio.“

The cum disappears from his face.

„Thanks,“ he says. His hands stay in place. When his fingers start rubbing circles into my naked skin, it becomes too much.

I step away and pull my trousers up.

This time, he lets me.

„Do you want a drink?“ he asks. „Or something to eat?“

I hesitate. „I thought I'm leaving?“

Green eyes blink at me. „I mean. If you want to.“

„Do you want me to?“

I'm startled when he shakes his head immediately. Says _no_.

„Do you like lasagna? I think I still have some leftovers.“

My heart is pounding again. I tug at the sleeves of my shirt. The shirt that's way too thin.

„Hookers usually leave after a shag,“ I say.

„But I'm not a client.“

„I'm a whore though.“

Harry lifts his shoulders. Drops them. „Yeah.“

The silence stretches between us. When I can't bear it anymore, I break it.

„Do you really want me to have dinner with you?“

„Yeah.“

„Alright.“

I let him lead me into the kitchen. I sit down at his table and mock the old furniture while he heats up pasta for me. We eat lasagna together and he asks me if I'm cold and I tell him to fuck off.

When he summons a thick, worn jumper of his for me, I put in on without complaining.

„Do you play chess?“ he asks me and I destroy him so thouroughly that he's sulking afterward.

A slow, dedicated blow job cheers him up again.

„I think you're as good as Ron,“ Harry says pushing my hair behind my ear as I wipe my mouth.

My eyebrow shoots up. „At blow jobs?“

Harry blushes. Rolls his eyes and nudges me. „No, idiot. At chess.“

Around one a.m., we eat grapes and crackers. I'm warm in his jumper, curling up on his sofa. I know I should leave, but I'm too cozy right now.

I only realize I've drifted off when I feel a gentle hand on my calf.

„I should really go to sleep now,“ Harry says. I wrestle my tired body, getting into a sitting position.

„Only because I have to get up early tomorrow,“ he explains. Then: „You can sleep here. Or in my bed. Whatever you want.“

He looks down. Then at me again. „I'll try not to wake you tomorrow.“

* * *

Ron is waiting for me with a cup of coffee in our office and I don't think I have ever loved him as much as I do in that moment.

Okay, no. Ron had more glorious moments than this one, of course. But right now, this is literally my idea of heaven.

„You are the best,“ I say, dropping down in my chair.

„Yeah,“ Ron says, eyeing me. „And you are... well-shagged?“

I don't have it in me to stop from smiling. „Maybe.“

Ron's eyes grow huge. „For real? Merlin, who is it?“

I sip my coffee and look at the surface of the table. „Um, is it okay if I don't tell you?“

The corners of his mouth turn downwards. „Er, no. But okay.“

I clap his shoulder. „Thanks, man.“

Ron just grunts and then gently brings me down from my high by slapping a file on my desk.

„Look, I know you think it was Flint and I think it would make sense, too. But his magic isn't on Runcorn's body.“

I frown, looking at the reports. „He could have used someone else's wand. Like Draco's for example.“

I bite my tongue. Surprise crosses Ron's face at my use of Draco's given name. He shakes it off for the moment. „Yeah, but he didn't. Not for the stunner, at least.“

„The stunning curse Runcorn was hit by before the killer slit his throat?“

Ron nods.

„See, that's what feels so strange to me. I mean, if someone stole Malfoy's wand – why use their own for the first strike? How does that make any sense?“

I have to silently agree with him. „Maybe... maybe the killer only stole his wand after he had already killed Runcorn.“

Ron picks up his cup, but doesn't take a swig. „Yeah, must be. But it still feels weird.“

I circle the cup in my hand. „What _I'm_ wondering is why the killer didn't just avada Runcorn. Why stun him and then cut his throat?“

„Could be something like... wanting to see Runcorn's face?“

„You mean the killer didn't want to kill someone who had their back turned on them?“

Ron shrugs. „Maybe. But I think more like... for satisfaction, you know?“

I nod slowly. „That would mean the murder was personal. Which speaks for Flint.“

As I shiver, Ron gets up and closes the window. He turns to me, leaning against the wall. Frowning.

„I know that Flint makes sense, but... I don't know, Harry. I feel like it wasn't him.“

I bite my lip and lean back in my chair, looking at the files without reading the words.

„He had reason to hate Runcorn and Malfoy both. And he has a temper. Do you really think that's a coincidence?“

Ron pushes himself off the wall and heads back to his chair.

„In this case? Could be, don't you think?“ He scratche his head. „I mean, we're talking about former Death Eaters. Many people hate them.“

„Runcorn was never a Death Eater.“

„Yeah, okay. But close enough.“

We're both quiet for a while and just when I start getting lost in thoughts of Draco, of his slender thighs under my hands, his smirk as he looked up at me from his knees, Ron speaks up.

„Look, mate. I know you think it wasn't Malfoy, but I feel like... we're being careless. I'm not saying it was him,“ he adds as he notices the look on my face. „But I am saying we can't just let him off the hook so easily. I want to take a closer look at his and Runcorn's relationship.“

I take a breath. Ron is being reasonable. I can't go for the jugular right now.

„I get it, but we already did, Ron. Malfoy hardly knew Runcorn.“

„We agreed that he lied when he said that.“

I curse myself for telling Ron that after the interrogation. Then I feel fear rise inside me.

What am I doing? I can't start trusting Draco just becaus I like shagging him. I can't just assume he's innoccent because that's what I want to believe when there's evidence pointing against him.

If my gut is right on this, then Draco did nothing wrong. Meaning, as long as we're being fair and civil, there is no reason why I would try to keep Ron from doing some further research.

„Okay. If you think that's necessary, I won't hold you back.“  
  


* * *

I've always hated sifting through the old Death Eater files. Reading about their crimes takes me back to a time where everything was dark and failure was always licking on your heels.

Whenever I read about Greyback, I think of Bill and I want to race straight to Azkaban and hex the blood thirsty werewolf into oblivion.

When I read about the Snatchers, I'm seventeen again, making the worst mistake of my life over and over again.

I left my friends and it will forever stick with me, I know that. You have your friends' back. Always.

You don't piss off like a scared little pussy.

But that's what I did and I can be glad both Harry and Hermione seem to have forgiven me for that. Even though I haven't.

With a sigh, I close the file and hand it back to the archivist who gives me a tight-lipped smile.

Runcorn has never been an important figure, even though he was a righ tit. His trial took merely an hour because there were so many trials to be had at the time. He got a fine and a restriction order for six months and that was that.

Not fair at all, if you ask me, but back then, no one really asked me.

The point is, I won't find anything about Runcorn in here, the dusty archive of the Ministry. And while the Malfoy files are a lot thicker, I know that there's nothing in there about Draco Malfoy that I don't already know.

I get back to my office. Harry isn't there, but I didn't expect him to be back already. He's interrogating Flint's wife again. She told us just about nothing last time and I think it's a good idea to try her again.

I munch on a bag of crisps, drawing circles on my notebook. Laziness embodied, Robards would think if he'd stop by now, but that's not true.

I'm thinking.

Harry is right when he says Gabriel Flint is the most likely candidate at the moment. Someone who hated Runorn with a passion and was more than willing to throw Malfoy under the bus.

I do feel like Runcorn's murder was a very personal matter – not political. His career has been over since the war.

But my gut tells me that it wasn't Flint. If he'd have come for Runcorn, probably in a frenzy, the body would have looked different, I'm almost sure of that. He'd have blast the man into oblivion.

Finishing my crisps, I get up and wipe my hands on my trousers.

Maybe I should pay Flint another visit.

„What do you want?“

Flint doesn't do well with being locked up. Not many people do, but he's an extreme case. Maybe because of Azkaban.

I don't give a flying fuck.

I drag a chair over and sit in front of his cell, looking at him through the bars.

„How are you doing, Flint?“

His eyes narrow at me „Fuck you.“

I pull out a can of cola and crack it open. „Harry is interrogating your wife again.“ My tone is conversationally. I watch Flint's face closely.

The pressure he's under must be even greater than I thought, because he cracks on the spot.

„Okay, fine! It's true. Runcorn shagged Laila. I hated him for that. But I didn't kill him.“

I believe him. But, of course, some people can fool your gut. It doesn't happen often. But it _does_ happen.

Flint is inching closer, gripping the bars. „Do you think I'm retarted? I knew I'd go back to Azkaban if there was even the slightest suspicion I killed him. So I didn't!“

„You just accepted that your wife cheated on you?“

Pure hatred is displayed on Flint's features. „I didn't, you twat. I've fucked some cunt on the street every fucking week. And made sure she knew.“

I push down my disgust and cross my ankle over my knee.

„One of those people you slept with was Draco Malfoy.“

A filthy grin bares Flint's teeth. „I really wouldn't call it that.“

„Call it what you want. But you had intercourse with him, right? Several times.“

Flint shrugs, unmoved. „Yeah, I did.“

„How often?“

The man tilts his head. „I think... ten times? Eight?“

I switch the can from one hand to the other. „Why him? I thought you hated him.“

„That's what made it so good.“

I deicide to let that go. He's honest and there is nothing more behind it. I think.

Flint leans forward, pressing against the bars. „Look, if you found Malfoy's signature on Runcorn – why are you coming after me? I didn't kill that bastard. I was fully planning on never hearing from him again.“

I hesitate for a moment. Then I say: „There are several things indicating that it wasn't Malfoy who killed Runcorn.“

Flint snorts. „Oh, you think so? I wouldn't be so sure. Malfoy hated Runcorn. Perhaps even more than me.“

I sit up straighter. Study Flint's face. „And why is that?“

The prisoner looks away. His jaw twitches. „He just did.“

See, _now_ Flint is lying. But why? Why would he protect Malfoy now?

He wouldn't, is the simple answer. He's just protecting himself.

„Why would Malfoy hate Runcorn?“ I repeat.

Flint looks at the ceiling. Clearly furious, but still not willing to talk. „He did. Believe me. Runcorn always treated Malfoy like the dirty cunt he is. And back then, Malfoy didn't like that at all.“

I lean forward. „Back then? During the war?“

Flint shrugs. „Yeah.“

„What do you mean, Runcorn treated him like a cunt?“

„Talked to him like that.“

I lean back again, frowning. Flint is gripping the bars hard. „You've got nothing on me. You have to let me go.“

„We have enough on you.“ _To keep you for twelve more hours_.

I rub my face. Then I get up without another word and ignore Flint shouting after me.

* * *

I don't know what that says about me, but seeing Draco in leggings (even though there are some holes in them) and a flowy jumper, his hair open and his lips red, knocks me dead. His bright eyes are once again rimmed with black and I don't know if it's just me or if everyone finds feminine boys and masculine girls so fucking attractive.

I'm almost sure it's just me.

This time, Draco sees me approaching from afar. When I reach him, he sighs.

„You'll have to wait, Potter.“

„For what?“

I don't dare reaching for his hand, but I want to.

„For me to get off work? I've just started.“

„Can't you... come to mine instead of working?“

Draco shakes his head, gaze firm. Jaw set. „I need to pay rent.“

„I'll pay your rent.“

„Don't be ridiculous and piss off.“

I cross my arms. „Okay. Then I'll wait. When do you get off?“

Arctic eyes size me up. „You want to see me after half a douzen men had me?“

I shrug.

„My make up is going to be destroyed.“

I shrug.

„I'm going to smell like them.“

„Why are you trying to shock me?“

Draco shakes his head, brows drawn. „I'm not trying to shock you. I'm trying to make you see the reality. I feel like you're pretending I am someone I'm not.“

„I think that's what _you_ do. Not me.“

He stares at me. First, I think he'll kiss me.

Then I'm sure he's going to hex me.

He does none of the above. His voice goes very low. Dangerous. „Fuck off, Potter. Right now.“

I do as I'm told, but before I'm out of earshot, I look over my shoulder and say: „I'll be at Grimmauld. You know how to get there.“

I eat dinner. I kip on the sofa for a couple hours. When I wake up at four in the morning, I think I should probably be moving upstairs and get into bed.

That's when it knocks on the door.

I'm there in the blink of an eye, ripping it open. Draco is standing on the doorstep. Make up smudged. Smelling of strange men.

I take his arm and pull him inside. „You took your time.“

Draco just makes a humming noise. Then he yawns. He scrunches up his nose and shudders and I have to think of a kitten.

I'm not thinking about if this beautiful creature following me into the living room might be a murderer.

„Do you want anything?“

Draco's lashes flutter. „I think you do.“

I roll my eyes and pull him to the sofa. I think I mostly leave him there and get water from the kitchen so I won't have to face my own actions. My stupid, stupid actions.

He's half asleep when I get back. I set the glass down on the small table and sit down on the sofa, next to Draco's head.

„If you want to fuck me, you'll have to be quick,“ he murmurs. Yawns. „I'm going to pass out any minute.“

Tentatively, I touch his hair. It's cold. I cast a warming charm and then pull one of the rather ratty blankets on my sofa over Draco's body. When I resume petting his hair, he smiles.

I turn to him, pull one of my legs up on the sofa, so the angle will be better.

My heart stops when Draco lays his head in my lap.

„Stupid Potter,“ he whispers, not bothering to open his eyes. I stroke his hair. He's got something on his mouth that I really, really don't want to know the name of.

I keep petting his hair, even when he's fast asleep.

When Draco wakes up, my knees and back hurt and my eyes are burning slightly from tiredness. But nonetheless, something deep in my chest has settled.

The blond is obviously confused, looking around as he sits up. Brushing his hair out of his face. When his puffy eyes find mine, I can't help but think that he's still somehow stunning, sleep-tousled hair, mascara on his cheeks and all.

„Did I sleep here?“

„Yeah.“

I stretch out my legs. It's seven a.m., meaning I have some more time until I have to be at the office.

„Did we fuck?“ Draco frowns. I can tell he's anxious about it – worried because he can't remember. I shake my head.

„No. You fell asleep pretty much the second you walked in.“

Draco just nods, clearly at a loss. I look straight into his eyes and clear my fogged up brain.

„I need to ask you about Flint.“

Running a hand through his hair, Draco looks at me. „Alright.“

„Do you think it's possible he stole your wand and returned it without you noticing?“

The pause is just a tiny fraction too long. If he wasn't still so tired and confused, I think I would have bought it.

„It's possible, yes. If he was being smart about it.“

Something very heavy settles in my stomach. I want to ask him, straight up. _Was it you?_

But I don't.

I don't, because I don't want to know.

„I have to go to work,“ I say. Draco gets up.

„Have a good day, Potter.“

I'm late for work, even though I had plenty of time to get ready. I'm late because I don't know what to do.

In my heart, I just don't believe Draco is evil. Evil – such a childish word. But it's fitting. I can't believe Draco would kill someone – not if it wasn't in self-defense or the defense of someone else. But he lied to me about Flint. And his magical signature is all over the body.

He must have something to do with it.

Angelina, Ncuti and Ron are all in my office as I come in.

„Sorry,“ I say, dropping my bag on the chair.

Angelina gives me a look. „We had to release Flint.“

I freeze. „What? Why?“

Around the board, the looks I get are grim.

„We don't have evidence against him. A motive doesn't make a murdere,“ Ncuti says.

Ron gets up from his chair and puts a hand on my shoulder. „I don't like it, either. But there's nothing to be done about it.“

Ncuti's normally glowing dark skin appears faint in the morning light. All of them look like they hadn't gotten much more sleep than I did.

„Flint said something about Malfoy,“ Ron says. „About that Runcorn didn't treat him right.“

I rub my face. „What do you mean by that?“

Angelina steps forward. „It sounded like he meant Runcorn used to harrass him.“

„I'm not sure,“ Ron interjects. „But he insinuated something like that, yeah.“

„He probably said that to deflect from himself,“ I say dismissively.

„Yeah, but I don't think he was lying.“ Ron looks at me seriously. „I think we should bring Malfoy in one more time. Ask him about Runcorn.“

„We already did that, Ron,“ Ncuti says, lips rather tight.

„Then we do it again.“

Ncuti's brows knit together. „We have to be careful. Do you know what it looks like, us bringing Death Eater after Death Eater in? Best case scenario, people think we're grasping at straws. Worst case scenario, we're predjudiced. And I don't know about you guys, but I think there are enough predjudiced Aurors in this department already.“

Ron is impatient now. He huffs out a breath. „This has nothing to do with predjudice. It's about who had a connection to Runcorn.“

„Malfoy didn't,“ I say.

„You don't know that.“

„What about Flint's wife?“ Angelina asks, sitting on my desk, crossing her arms.

I run a hand through my hair. „She's bitter, but I don't think she killed anyone. But I wouldn't swear by it either.“

„But what motive would she have had?“ Ron asks.

„Keeping Runcorn from telling her husband?“

Ron frowns. „Seems a little extreme, doesn't it? Also, Flint has know about her and Runcorn for a while now.“

Silence stretches between us.

Ron catches my gaze and I sigh. „I don't think we'll learn anything new if you bring Malfoy in again.“

„I agree,“ Ncuti says. „I think we should widen our focus again. I have the feeling we might be on the completely wrong track.“

Angelina massages her temples. Ron shrugs and says simply: „I have the feeling that Malfoy's the key.“

Draco is watching me out of vivid bright eyes. Intelligent eyes.

I close the door behind us and pull him in. He lets me kiss him for a few seconds, sliding his thick jacket off his shoulders. When I drag him toward the sofa, he goes with it.

Only when I push him down on his back, hovering over him, fumbling with his belt, he puts a hand to my chin. His brows are drawn.

„Are you not going to ask me?“

I know what he means, of course. 

I shake my head.

„I'd rather shag you.“

Only after I said it, I realize _what_ I just said. It makes me stop. It makes me sit up and pull him with me, so that we're kneeling in front of each other.

„Was it you?“

I'm aware my voice is vulnerable. I'm aware how much I want him to say no.

„If I said no, would you even believe me?“

Draco's voice is even. Calm. I search his eyes.

Then I jump. Because I'm a stupid Gryffindor and can't help myself.

„I do.“

I kiss him again. Push him on his back and open his belt. Yank his trousers down.

Draco sighs, one hand carding through my hair. „Lesson number one, Potter. Never trust a whore.“

I flip him over then, pulling him up by his hips until he's on all fours. I take him hard and fast from behind and I feel like he pities me. When he spreads his knees and arches his back for me, I come.

Again, I come first, while Draco is looking at me serenly out of those blue-silver eyes.

Something like defiance, like courage and boldness and something utterly stupid wells up in me. I don't let him turn on his back.

I keep him on his belly. Kiss my way down his spine.

„Potter.“ It's not quite a moan, not quite a sigh. But almost.

„Don't call me that.“

He's quiet. I lick his thighs and hope he can't sense my nerves. I push them away.

I've ate pussy before. It can't be that different.

When my tongue flicks over his hole – still slick and puffy-red from my cock, he flinches. I stop, afraid that I've hurt him.

„Okay?“ I ask. He says nothing. „Draco?“

„Yes, you utter moron. Keep going.“

Finally, his voice has transformed from posh drawl into trembling kitten. I smile.

Draco is moaning and writhing and I growl bolder. I think I might love this.

His thighs are shaking and I hold onto them with my hands. Fingers digging into the slender muscles, the soft part on his inner thighs.

„Harry.“ It's a choked off moan. He's humping my sofa, pushing back into my face and I smile while I eat him out.

„Please, Harry – I -“

He comes and I wait until the tremors fade. One last kiss pressed to his entrance, and I pull back.

He turns around and stares at me. His breathing is still fast. I think I can see his heart racing.

„I have to go,“ he says. „Work.“

My mood darkens, just a bit. „One moment,“ I say.

I pull him close and suck a love bite into his neck. Draco can only shake his head at me.

„I think shagging me isn't good for you, Potter.“

I lift my shoulders. He might be right.

But it feels like the opposite.

* * *

The smile is still glowing on my face as I take my usual position in front of a rather dirty brick wall that belongs to a shady pub. Everyone knows that it's more or less just a traffick point for drugs of all sorts.

I smooth my hair down. I hate thinking about having to shag someone else now. But I'm grinning still, because Harry fucking Potter just ate my arse.

Because Harry fucking Potter believes me. Complete, utter moron. Brain-dead and stupid.

My heart pounds faster when I think about it.

It comes to a rapid stop when I see a familiar car pull up. I turn on my heels and dive into the shadows of the smaller alleys crossing Knockturn, running as fast as I can. I turn several corners and then duck behind a dumpster, heart in my throat now.

Whatever the reason for Flint to seek me out might be, it won't be good.

I wait for half an hour, until I can't bear the cold anymore. Slowly, I creep out of my hiding place.

Instead of returning to my usual spot, I position myself high up the alley, allowing my hair to cover my face.

When the first car pulls up, I jump. But it's silver, not black like Flint's and the man inside doesn't know me. He only sees slender legs and a fuckable face.

I'm almost relieved when I slip into his car, hop into the back with him, even though his greedy hands disgust me.

Maybe sleeping with Harry isn't good for _me_ , either. I don't know why I'm suddenly into clumsy fools, but something about Harry is just... fucking hot. It's so hot that anyone else's hands feel like troll ones.

But this is how I make my money and I'm a professional, so I soldier through it, faking the time of my life on some john's cock, get my money and slip out again.

I walk straight into Flint.

His hand is over my mouth before I can scream.

„Hello, Draco. Long time no see.“

One look into his eyes and I know I can't expect mercy from him. He didn't come to blow off some steam. He's going for the jugular this time.

I've drawn my wand before he knows what's happening. Flint has never seen me as anything more than a dumb, willing trollop and that rescues me now.

I shoot a stinging hex at him and _run_. This time, to the next apparition point, from which I apparate straight home.

My heart is thundering as I lock the door to my flat.

Pansy is still awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading. She gets up, worried eyes on me.

„Drake? Are you okay?“

I meet her eyes and slowly shake my head. „I think we're in trouble, Pansy.“


	4. Chapter 4

I don't see Draco for five days.

The first time I go looking for him and he's not at his usual spot, I'm not too worried. The second time, I feel a bit uneasy.

The third time, I'm at his flat. When no one opens and everything stays quiet, I start to get anxious.

While Ncuti, Angelina and Ron are racking their brains, trying to figure out our Runcorn case, I almost lose my mind over Draco fucking Malfoy.

On the fifth day on his absence, when Ncuti is driving out of London to interrogate Runcorn's ex-wife, who we've so far only had a rather brief floo-interview with, I take the day off and start searching.

If anyone would say I abused my privileges as an Auror to find Draco, they'd be absolutely right.

It takes me several tracking spells and a lot of thinking until I finally find him.

I have never been at Snape's house before – why would I? But I'm not overly surprised that it's empty. It seems like one of those places that will forever be haunted by its former inhabitant.

I'm not sure what a normal person's relationship with their godfather is like. Maybe there's no normal. But I know that if he were still alive, Sirius would be my emergency contact. I'd always run to him, even though he wasn't always there for me.

I can't really imagine that anyone could ever love Snape the way I loved Sirius, but of course I know that there must have been more to the man than what I saw.

I don't like thinking about Snape much, because I still haven't made up my mind about him. I've spent so much time hating him, hating him for good reasons, and then he died for my cause. He loved my mother, but he hated my father. He protected me, but he also made my life in school hell. Bullied me and my friends.

I'll never like Severus Snape. I respect him, but I'm not sure if I'll ever see in him what Dumbledore must have seen.

A person that can be trusted with lives.

I don't know who Snape was to Draco. I remember their fight, the fight I eavesdropped. Draco enraged and scared and so fucking haughty.

Snape angry and exasperated and worried. If nothing else, Snape at least somewhat cared for Draco. He wouldn't have made an Unbreakable Vow otherwise.

The wards of Snape's house are trying to keep me out, but they're weakened by time and abandonment. And I'm Harry Potter – my magic was strong enough to kill Voldemort. A couple of meagre wards aren't keeping me out.

Draco is almost out the window by the time I make it in. When he sees it's me, he stops. Lingers. Unsure what to do.

He looks tired, even more than usually. Haunted.

„Draco,“ I say.

„How did you find me?“

„Wasn't easy, believe me.“

His eyes study me.

„Why are you hiding?“

I can tell he's torn. It's almost palpable, his conflict, trying to figure out what to tell me. I wish he wouldn't weigh his options – wasn't trying to decide which version of the truth would be most beneficial for him.

„Just tell me, Draco.“

The Slytherin bites his lip.

„Flint went after me,“ he says. „I think he's... serious.“

„Why is he after you? Does he blame you for us arresting him?“

Draco nods.

I could kick my own arse. How did I not think of this?

„You're coming with me,“ I say.

Draco arches a brow, making no move to come closer. „Am I?“

I frown and take a tiny step closer. „Yeah. You can stay at my place until it blows over.“

„Until you've arrested the murderer and Flint has no reason to be scared anymore?“

„If he didn't do it, yeah.“

Draco doesn't seem soothed in the least and I try not to think about what that might mean. Instead, I take a look around me.

It's obvious that no one has lived in this house for a long time. It's dusty and somehow... sad. Even though I doubt Snape brought much joy in here while he was still alive.

I sit on the sofa. Draco eyes me, then looks out of the window again.

„It's not a very good hide, I know. But I couldn't think of anything better,“ he says.

I watch the flow of his hair, then look at my wand, still drawn.

„He was your godfather, wasn't he?“

Draco sighs, quietly. „That he was.“

„Were you close?“

Slowly, he skirts the sofa and arrays himself in the not overly comfy looking armchair across from it. He crosses his legs and fingers a strand of his hair.

„Depends. We weren't the kind of close in the sense of going on trips together or talking a lot. But he watched me grow up. Sometimes, he'd call Lucius out when he was being harsh on me.“

„Harsh on you?“

Draco flaps his hand. „I don't want to whine about it. My childhood wasn't so bad. Aside from the fact that my parents fed me all those lies, of course.“

„You were always Snape's favourite in school,“ I say.

Draco snorts, then smiles. „I assume I was. But at least in Potions, it was well-deserved.“

„I haven't even known my godfather for two years,“ I say, not looking at Draco. I can feel winter grey eyes on me.

„I didn't know you had one. Who was it?“

I look out of the window. „Sirius Black.“

„I'm sorry about your loss.“

„Me too.“

It still hurts, sometimes. When I'm feeling nostalgic. When I think about what it could have been like.

„He was the first person that seemed to, you know. Belong to me.“ I pause. „I mean, that sounds weird, but... I don't mean it like that. Not like I'd have owned him or anything. I just mean... I love the Weasleys and I'll be forever so grateful that they took me in. Ron is like my brother. But...“

I trail off and look at my knees. „Sirius was the first person that I didn't have to earn, you know? I didn't have to make him like me first. It was his job to be there for me and he... always wanted to do exactly that. He didn't really get the chance to, but it meant the world to me. That he cared so much.“

„It sounds like he really loved you.“

I shrug, uncomfortable. My chest is tight. „I'm not sure. I think he was mostly missing my dad, but... well.“

We're quiet for a long while. When Draco speaks, his voice is soft. Almost vulnerable.

„I always envied you, you know. In school.“

„Because I was famous?“ Sarcasm is dripping from my voice.

Draco brushes his hair back. „Yes, but not mainly. I did believe that, if I could just be what you were, my father would finally be proud of me. But even more than of all the attention, I was so jealous of how... loved you were.“

He looks down, an ironic smile ghosting over his lips. „It took me a while to figure that out. But eventually, it dawned on me that seeing you with your friends made me so angry because... I wanted to have the same thing. I wanted people to love me like that, too.“

„Your mother loved you,“ I say, watching his face. He meets my gaze. „She lied to Voldemort for you. I think she loved you more than anything in the world.“

Draco swallows. Smiles. „Yes, she did. But she loves me most when I am what she wants me to be.“

Draco traces irregular patterns on the armrest of the armchair. „The first person that loved me for me was Pansy. It took me forever to realize that, but in the end, I did. Bless her persistence.“

„Wasn't she head over heels in love with you in school?“

Draco smiles. I'm sad the second it's fading again.

„She kind of was. But when she realized I'm as bent as they come, she got over it. It was awkward for a bit, but... we got past it.“

He tilts his head and watches me. „Do you really want me to come with you?“

„Yes,“ I say in a heartbeat. Draco frowns.

„I want you to really think about it, Harry. I know I fuck like a pro, but I don't think it can make up for the fact that you'd be having a murder suspect in your house. It would look very strange.“

I swallow. „I don't care. And you don't have to shag me to live with me.“

Draco smiles vaguely.

„Honestly, Draco. It's not – We said I'm not a client. I don't pay you and you don't owe me anything.“

The way Draco's face softens is hitting me hard. „Alright, Potter.“

* * *

I have been to Harry's house before, even spent the night here, but it feels different this time. He doesn't shag me in the hallway the second we arrive. Instead, he asks: „Are you hungry?“

„I could eat.“

I tip toe into the kitchen behind him and he starts cooking. For me.

When I was younger, I was so used to people cooking for me, doing my laundry for me, cleaning up after me, I never thought twice about it. Not even once, to be honest.

But now... now it's different.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, sipping wine and watching Harry whip up roasted potatoes and salad and it's hard to tear my eyes away from him. I have watched him for a good twenty minutes, until I can bring myself to ask: „Could I borrow some parchment and your owl?“

„Sure. You want to write Parkinson?“

I nod. I don't think Flint will come after her. He doesn't know we live together, not even that we're still in contact, but I need to let her know where I am. She's going to show up at Severus's tomorrow and if she'd find an empty house, she'd freak out.

After I sent the letter, I'm back to watching Harry. Spontaniously, I get up and join him in front of the stove. I press my mouth to his shoulder. He puts the wooden spoon down and turns around to me.

„Hey,“ he says. His green eyes are soft. Warm. I smile at him.

He leans down a bit and kisses me. We kiss until the timer Harry set starts ringing and then we eat. I've already learned that Harry is a good cook and he doesn't let me down today either.

„Who taught you to cook like that?“ I ask him after dinner, when we're sitting on his sofa with our second glass of wine.

He looks into his glass. Takes a sip. „My aunt.“

„Your muggle aunt?“

„Yeah.“

I know nothing about Harry's muggle relatives besides the fact that he grew up with them.

„Do you still have contact with her?“

Harry swallows. Smile in a way that is very un-Harry like. It's cynical.

„No and that's for the best.“

„You didn't get along?“

I want to bite my tongue. I hate it when people ask too many personal questions, which is why I usually don't do it either. I need to find a way to shut this Harry-shaped void in my mind that wants to be filled with useless trivia.

„Not really. My childhood was – well. Rough at times.“

I can sense that Harry doesn't want to talk about it, so I drop it. Even though I'm dying of curiosity – and already feel a distinct hatred for his muggle relatives growing in my chest.

Carefully, I put my glass down and pluck Harry's out of his hand. He smiles at me, anticipation in his eyes.

Elegantly, I swing a leg over his thighs and straddle his lap. His hands fall to my hips and he kisses me deeply. I can feel want and need burning hot inside of him. It doesn't bother me. On the contrary – I feel a responding desire of my own build.

„Would you strip for me?“ he asks, breathless. I nip at his jaw, lick over his slight stubble.

Without a word, I get off his lap and start undressing. I don't do it gracelessly, but I'm not giving him the full show, either. I'm impatient and I can tell he is, too.

His breathing is harsh when I'm standing naked before him, flipping my hair back.

„Your turn.“

He hastily pulls his shirt off, then his trousers. He looks away and tugs on my hand when he's naked. We both gasp when I slide back on his lap, skin on skin, my erection pressing into his belly, his cock against my arse. I run a hand over his chest.

Harry's skin is warm and tan, littered with scars. His shoulders are rather broad, his hips as well. He runs his hand through my hair, the whole length of it.

„I like your hair,“ he says.

I roll my hips and feel his cock pull up hard. It makes me smile.

It's me who casts the protection spells, but before I can slick myself, Harry stops me. „I want to do it.“

He's all determination, so I don't complain. I let him finger me, squirming on his lap, just very faintly embarrassed how turned on I am. I know I like anal play, but this much excitement over two fingers pushed in from an awkward angle is new.

He sucks on my throat, licks over my collar bones.

„Ride me,“ he says. It's not a question, but not an order, either. I kneel up and he pulls his fingers away. His jaw drops as he watches me sink down on his cock.

„Fuck, you're gorgeous.“

I feel my chest tighten with heat and start riding, hard and fast. Expertly.

His hands bruise my hips and when he starts pulling me down on it, I gasp. Moan.

„Harry.“ I lean back until every thrust hits the mark. If I wasn't so gone myself, I might notice how hard he's trying to hold himself back this time.

He manages. He pulls me down hard and I come on a shout, spurting all over our bellies. He loses his mind a bit and I wrap my arms and legs around him as he wrestles me on my back and slams into me, three, four, five times and then comes with my name on his lips.

I allow myself to run my fingers through his hair. It's messy and soft.

We catch our breaths curled around each other. When we've found our way back into our bodies, Harry asks me: „Shower?“

He fingers me under the stream of hot water, then fucks me against the slippery tiles. We're laughing when he almost trips, sending us both crashing to the ground. Afterwards, I wash his hair, claiming it's because it looks so terrible.

After the shower, I'm dressed in his clothes and he takes my hand. „Sleep in my bed.“

I hesitate. I should say no.

But why would I? Sleeping in his bed after shagging – it's nothing. It means nothing. 

Only bears the opportunity of lazy morning sex. With that in mind, I smile and say yes.

But I don't get any lazy morning sex. At seven a.m., Harry and I are woken up by a patronus that orders him to come to the office immediately. All I get is a quick kiss, tinged with worry, then I'm all alone in that big house. Wondering if I should run the second Harry is out of the door.

* * *

I arrive at the office with a pounding heart, aware I'm probably smelling like Draco. Ron and Ncuti greet me with very serious faces. Angelina dashes through the door only minutes after me, looking like she just fell out of bed.

Ron's expression, the way he has a hard time meeting my eyes, doesn't do anything to calm my nerves.

„What's going on?“

Ncuti exchanges a glance with Ron, then says: „We have to arrest Malfoy.“

„What? Why?“

„Because Runcorn raped him.“

For one blissful moment, I think it's a joke. But I quickly realize it's not and everything inside me freezes and dies. „How... how do you know that?“

„Ncuti spoke to Runcorn's ex-wife yesterday and she said that she divorced him because he abused her. Sexually and physically. She also says she later found out she wasn't the only one,“ Ron says.

„That's why I spoke to Flint again. And after a bit of prodding, he finally told me that Runcorn raped Malfoy, sometime during Voldemort's stay at the Manor. It was a reward for Runcorn. And punishment for Malfoy.“

I feel sick. I actually think I might puke.

„Why wouldn't have Flint said something right from the start?“

„Because he knew about it. And did nothing. I think he was a bit paranoid that we'd go after him because of that.“

I take a deep breath. „And now you want to arrest Malfoy because Runcorn raped him? What kind of evidence is that?“

Angelina throws me an incredulous look. „We already have evidence against him, Harry. What was missing is a motive and a confession. We now have the motive, too. We'll get the confession soon.“

„I don't believe that,“ I say. Ron inches a bit closer to me.

„Mate...“

„No, Ron. I know it wasn't Malfoy.“

„How could you possibly know that?“ Ncuti asks.

They all look at me.

„I just – I _know_ it. In my gut.“

„That's not enough.“ Angelina's tone is final.

I pull myself together. Try to think. „Look – Runcorn raped him _years_ ago. Why would Malfoy go after him now? Why wait for so long?“

„I wondered about that, too,“ Ncuti says.

Angelina shrugs. „Maybe he saw an opportunity he didn't before. Or maybe he has grown desperate and thought he's got nothing to lose anymore anyway.“

„That's insane!“

Ron squeezes my arm, a warning and comfort at the same time. „We're not throwing him into Azkaban, alright? We're just keeping him locked up for the time being.“

I look him square in the face. „You know how it'll go.“

„If we find someone else, another explaination for Malfoy's signature on body, we'll obviously release him.“ Ncuti's voice is kind. „But for now – the evidence and the motive are too strong to just let him walk free.“

I swallow. Try to keep my magic under control. „Okay. But I told you.“

They don't find Draco in his flat. Obviously. They start a search and leave a message.

I floo home as soon as I can.

Draco is sitting on the sofa, reading. His eyes are wary as he looks up at me.

I don't bother with taking off my shoes. I stride over and sit down next to him. Look into his eyes without blinking.

„You tell me everything now.“

Draco flinches back. His face shutters.

But I don't let him retreat. I take his hand between both of mine and squeeze. „Look, I know what Runcorn did to you. If you killed him, just tell me.“

I can tell that Draco's brian is going at full speed. His eyes flicker.

„They think you did it,“ I say quietly. „All of them.“

Draco looks away. „What if I did?“

That's the question. I take a breath. „I'd understand.“

His head turns. He arches his brow. „You'd understand.“

He says is so sarcastically, it's not even a question anymore.

I look up, my leg bouncing. My insides torn. „Of course I would! I just don't know what I'd do with it.“

Draco nods slowly. Then he inhales and looks at me. Holds my gaze. „It was me. I killed Runcorn.“

I say nothing. Just look at ihm until he breaks eyecontact first.

„I don't believe you.“

Draco makes a noise between an exasperated shout and a laugh. „Salazar, Potter. What else do I need to say? He raped me, I killed him because I thought it would make it better. Because I wanted to hurt him back. Do with that what you want.“

I shake my head. „You're lying. But why? Why would you say that? Why...“

I squint my eyes. I almost have it, I know I do.

„Why now?“ I ask. „Why not years ago?“

Draco sneers at me, finally pulling his hand away. „Because I finally got a hold of him. Anything else?“

I get up.

„Stay here,“ I say.

„The hell I will,“ Draco spits, pure fury in his eyes.

„If you leave this house and its protection, they will have you in minutes.“

With that, I leave. There is something I have to check.

„Nice of you to show up,“ Ron says. He's pissed that I left him alone with the search, but don't have time to apologize.

„Is Narcissa Malfoy still in Azkaban?“ I ask.

Ron frowns at me. „She got out two months ago. I think she's now under house arrest somewhere in France. Why?“

I lean on the desk, looking Ron into the eyes. „I think _she_ did it. And Malfoy is protecting her.“

Ron's lips part. „Narcissa Malfoy?“

I nod, my heart pounding in frantic excitement. „Draco is not a killer. But I think Narcissa is, at least for her son. She's do anything for him.“

Leaning forward on his elbows, Ron frowns at me. „Alright, yeah. How does it make any sense that she'd pin it on Malfoy though?“

„She didn't. _Draco_ did. He must have found out about it shortly after or maybe even before and was just too late to stop her. He then tried to cover up her traces by putting his own there.“

„You think he'd go to Azkaban to protect his mother?“

I hesitate for a moment. „If he thinks it was his fault she commited that crime, yes. And he probably hoped we wouldn't convict him. Afterall, he didn't do it and we'd be able to tell that he only got there after Runcorn was already dead.“

Ron gives me a long look. Rubs his nose. I wait breathlessly.

„I don't think what you're saying is crazy,“ he finally says. „But I just don't see how Narcissa would have gotten away from the guards, out of her house without anyone even _noticing_? Plus she's not allowed to use a wand. Plus she lives in _France_. No one would have given her a portkey or anything to get back to England.“

„There are muggle ways of transportation,“ I say, but I feel my confidence crumbling. Ron has made a very valid point.

„In theory, it's a good idea, Harry. But in practice... I just don't think it's possible.“

I swallow bitter disappointment.

I'll talk to Narcissa. If she found a way somehow to do it, I'll find out.

Before I can leave the office, Ron calls my name.

„You have to explain something to me,“ he says. I wait. „Why the hell are you so set on protecting Malfoy?“

After a short moment, I decide to tell him the part of the truth I'm most confident about. The part that matters, because I know it's real. „Because I think he's innoccent.“

Finding Narcissa Malfoy isn't as easy as I thought it would be. It takes me the whole day to convince Robards to let me visit her. Then I have to pay extra for a portkey that will bring me to France.

All of that turns out to be in vain.

Even I, desperate as I am, can't pretend this would have been Narcissa's work. When I tell her what Runcorn did to Draco, she almost breaks down. She clearly didn't know about it.

The final giveaway is the moment she starts confessing, as soon as she realizes that it's going to be Draco or her. For an insane moment, I think about brining her in. Backing her story – framing her for murder.

But I don't, of course. The story would never hold and I'm not that kind of Auror. I don't want to be.

I return to Grimmauld feeling low and defeated. Still, a restless energy is cursing through me.

„Draco?“

He's not on the sofa in the living room and I think the moment I see that, I know. Nevertheless, I look into every room of the goddamn house, calling his name.

He's not here.

I come to a stop in the kitchen, burying my face in my hands.

I shouldn't be surprised. When Draco Malfoy is afraid, Draco Malfoy runs. It's all he knows.

Standing in the empty kitchen, I allow myself to think, for the first time, that I might be wrong. Maybe my gut is off this time – confused by all the shagging. By Draco's pretty face.

It doesn't feel like it, but it wouldn't, would it?

Maybe Draco really did it.

To my own surprise, I realize that doesn't change my opinion about him. Not really. I have zero tolerance for cruelity like Runcorn was capable of.

I let my gaze wander through the kitchen and try to make a plan.

I come up with nothing.

„He confessed?“

I stride into the office past nine p.m., bones aching and head pounding. My chest is heavy.

Ron is sitting on his chair, hair ruffled, shoulders slumped. Ncuti leans against the wall, pensive expression on his face and Angelina sits on the desk, legs dangling down, hair loose for once.

Ron finds my eyes. Nods.

„I caught him while he was trying to flee England. He wasn't surprised.“

I want to shout at Ron. Slam him against the next wall and land a few punches. 

I know it's not fair, not at all – unlike me, Ron is just doing his job and he's being surprisingly civil considering how much he hated Draco in school (for good reason). But that doesn't change the fact I feel like screaming at someone.

„What did he say?“ I ask.

Angelina hands me the report, silent.

I skim it. Vengeance. Attacking when Runcorn didn't expect it. Stunning spell.

I look at Angelina. „But he never cast a stunner. We know that.“

„There are always some things that don't quite fit, Harry. With any case.“

Angelina is right, but I don't want to hear it. Suddenly unable to look at it any longer, I slam the report on the table.

„Okay, fine. He did it. What do we do now?“

Ncuti and Ron exchange a quick look. Angelina gazes at me evenly. „He'll get a trial, of course. And then he will probably go to Azkaban for a long time.“

I run my hands through my hair. They're shaking. I ignore it.

„Harry.“ Ron gets up, but I dodge his outstretched hand.

„What's up, Harry? Talk to us.“ Ncuti's voice is soft.

I squeeze my eyes shut, then open them again. There isn't enough air in my lungs.

„Would you guys give us a moment?“ Ron asks.

Neither Ncuti nor Angelina complain as they leave the office, closing the door behind them quietly. Ron puts a large, sure hand between my shoulder blades. „Just breathe.“

I do. Once, twice. Three times. I can feel the vice like grip of the panic loosen.

„Sorry,“ I mutter. Ron strokes up and down my back, then pats my shoulder and pulls his hand away.

„All good, mate. But please tell me now what's going on.“

I wrestle with myself. Then I look to the door. Back to Ron.

„Promise you won't tell anyone.“

„Yeah.“

„Seriously. I could get sacked for this.“

Ron's eyes are solemn as he nods. „I won't tell. Promise.“

I inhale, staring at my feet. „I've had sex with Malfoy.“

Deafening silence.

„Merlin's beard.“

I meet Ron's gaze. He looks slightly horrified. „Harry, why... how?“

I shrug weakly. „I don't know, it just... happened.“

Ron keeps staring at me. „It was only once though, right?“

It's hard, so fucking hard, but I manage to hold eye contact when I shake my head. „It was a couple times.“

Ron sits down again and puts his face in his hands. Through his fingers, he's glancing at me.

„I know it's fucked up,“ I say.

Ron lets his hands sink. „I didn't even know you're into guys, mate.“

I bite my lip. „That a problem?“

„No, for fuck's sake. Malfoy's the problem. Mostly the fact that he was a bloody _suspect_ in a _murder case._ What the hell where you thinking?“

Now I sit down, too, my legs not carrying me anymore. „I don't know. Honestly, I have no fucking idea. I wasn't really thinking at all.“  
„Yeah, clearly.“

We're sitting in silence for a while. Finally, Ron says, quietly: „You don't have feelings for him though, do you?“

A thick lump is forming in my throat. „That would be fucking ridiculous,“ I say.

I can feel Ron's eyes on me, but I don't meet them. „I know you, Harry.“

That's all he says, but I know what he means.

He knows I haven't slept with anyone since Ginny. He certainly remembers that one disastrous time we went out together and I snogged a witch, only to then quickly abort the mission because I lost my nerve.

He knows I'm the last one for some casual hook-up.

„Okay, here's what we're gonna do.“

I lift my head. Ron's face is determined.

„You take a few days off. No Malfoy, no office. I'll be here and I'll make sure no one's throwing Malfoy under the bus or pinning stuff on him he didn't do. But, Harry.“

I nod. I know what he'll say.

„I think he's guilty. And if he is, he's going to Azkaban for quite a while.“

„I know. But... Ron, Runcorn _raped_ him.“

My best mate looks down at his hands. I lean a little bit closer. „You and I, we both... you know that if anyone did something like that to someone we loved, we'd kill them, too.“

Ron's eyes are hard to read. „If someone raped you, you wouldn't kill them.“

I take a moment to think about it. He might be right, but how am I to tell as long as I have no idea what getting raped is like?

„Maybe,“ I say. „But I'd kill them if they had raped you.“

Ron doesn't argue. He rubs his face. „Murder is murder. If Malfoy did it, there's nothing we can do to help him. Not that I even think that's a good idea.“

„I don't think murder is murder,“ I say. „I mean, I've killed before.“

The sharp look Ron throws me would intimidate me if I wasn't his best friend. „That was bloody Voldemort. I'd say it's hardly the same thing.“

I shrug. „Not the same thing, sure, but...Come on, Ron. We both know Runcorn was trash.“

„So it's okay now to kill people when they're trash? Some people might argue Malfoy's trash, too.“

I turn away. My heart is fluttering, but not in the good way.

„You're right,“ I say. I get up. „I'll go home now.“

I return to Grimmauld and get black-out drunk. I think I cry a little, but no one's there to see and I won't remember it tomorrow.

Sometime between the first and the second broken bottle, I pass out.

* * *

My breathing is ragged the second they throw me into the cell, even though it's a pretty cell. There is the plank bed again and a bottle of water.

But it's all I can do not to bang my head against the wall. Last time, it wasn't so bad.

I was sure they'd let me out. This time... a different matter.

As the nightly hours pass and my heartbeat just keeps going harder, the urge to talk gets stronger. I resist it.

One thing in my life that I haven't fucked up. Only one – the best. I'll keep it.

I don't sleep a wink that first night, so I'm slightly dazed and heavily bleary-eyed when Weasley comes to see me early in the morning.

He doesn't look like he has slept much, either. Some ridiculous red stubble is dusting his cheeks and his pale, freckled skin has an unhealthy ashy undertone.

He pushes a chocolate bar and a cup of coffee through the bars. I jump at the coffee, wrapping my cold hands around it.

The Weasel sits in front of my cell, cross-legged. The way he's staring at me makes my skin crawl.

For a moment, I contemplate making him an offer. But, strangely, it feels like if I let Weasley fuck me, I'll really have to jump off a bridge afterward.

Not that I could. So it'd be a slow death through dehydration, I assume.

Also, I'm rather sure he wouldn't take me up on it.

„Bathing in your triumph?“ I ask clippedly.

Weasley takes a long swig from his own coffee. „Nah. I feel like I'm too late for that.“

My eyes narrow. I'm not talking back though because he's right.

He missed my fall from grace. But I assume seeing the results isn't too bad, either.

„We're bringing your flatmate in tomorrow. More protocol than anything else. It's not like we need more evidence against you, Malfoy.“

I almost choke on my coffee. My throat burns and my eyes water.

Weasley is watching me still. „You alright there?“

No, I'm not. I need to get out of here. Now.

My thoughts are racing as Weasley is staring at me.

When they're zooming in on the one thing I've had in the back of my mind the whole time since they brought me in, my stomach sinks.

I don't care.

„You know, Weasley,“ I begin.

I push away the nauseous feeling in my chest, my belly. This is about survival.

Once again, I have no other choice.

The ginger's eyes narrow. Something in his expression tells me that he knows what this is about immediately.

„Don't you dare, ferret-face.“

I smile, a cruel, cold thing. „So you know.“

„I don't know shit and neither do you.“

If I'm as lucky as usually, Weasley will kill me right this instant. Perhaps that would be for the better.

„I was surprised, too,“ I say, feining a casual tone. „I didn't have to confund him. I didn't even have to seduce him.“

Weasley's teeth are grinding. I don't think he has ever hated me this much and that's saying something.

„You can't prove it,“ he says coldly. „I'll say you're a lying piece of shit and they'll believe me.“

I arch a brow. Hide my distress. „Oh, I know you will. But what about Harry? Do you really think he'd _lie_ to save himself? Make them go after me when it was really him who is to blame?“

This is the moment. Weasley will end me now.

But he doesn't. He just stares at me like he can't believe such utter human trash actually exists.

That makes two of us.

„Harry came on to me and I can prove it by giving them my memories, if I have to. I think I actually told him how dangerous it was. And he didn't care.“

Weasley closes his eyes for a moment. „What do you want, Malfoy?“

I drop my disgusting whore-persona. „For you to let me out. To clear me of all charges. Ship me off to America or somewhere if that makes you feel better.“

The look Weasley throws me if full of disgust. „I can't ship you off because there is a fucking restraining order placed on you. And I can't clear you of all charges. I don't have the authority.“

„You'll find a way.“

Weasley's mouth curls.

„There are things you just won't do for a friend,“ he says quietly.

I raise my brow. „I disagree. Naturally – I'm a Slytherin.“

„Yeah, you follow your own moral code, I know. Bloody pain in my arse.“

I'm not sure what to make of Weasley's expression right now. He picks up his own chocolate bar from the floor and peels the wrapper off.

„Look, Weasley. I'm not dangerous. I killed Runcorn because – because I thought, perhaps, afterward I could sleep again.“

Weasley doesn't look at me, but I can see him swallowing.

„I wasn't the only one, you know. Not the first and certainly not the last. I needed to make it stop.“

The chocolate forgotten, Weasley looks at me. „You should've reported him.“

„After three years?“

„Yeah.“

I flip my hair back. „No one would have believed me. Now even less than before.“

I scoot closer. Curl my fingers around a bar.

„Just let me out of here, and I promise, you'll never see me again.“

Weasley's face is remarkably calm and assessing as he watches me. Auror robes become him.

„If you ever come close to Harry again – if you even look in his direction, I'll end you, Malfoy. I'll destroy your life.“

I merely nod.

„I'll see if we can get you out.“

I swallow and look up at Weasley as he stands. „Thank you.“

The ginger's face doesn't betray his emotions. 

Who would have thought I'd ever be scared of Ronald Weasley?

„Don't thank me.“


	5. Chapter 5

„You do realize that a stag party is usually thrown for the groom, right?“ I say, grinning at George in amusement.

The Weasley wiggles his eyebrows. „If there's no groom, then we'll have to improvise.“

Ron rolls his eyes. „Hermione will have my bollocks for this.“

„Nah, she won't.“ George flaps his hand.

„I don't want some stripper all over me, yeah? I mean it, George.“

Ncuti and I exchange a quick smile at Ron's obvious distress.

„You're such a bore, little brother.“

George rolls his eyes and the three of us follow him into the club.

The heat of all the bodies hits me immediately. 

It's March now, almost spring, but the air outside is still rather chilly and late as it is now, almost cold.

„I really don't know why I'm here,“ Ron mutters.

Me neither. Or, well. George can be very convincing when he wants to be.

„Let's just have a couple drinks and be done with it.“

Ncuti's eyes are wandering curiously over the many bodies grinding on the dancefloor – and the half-naked people bending and swirling and undulating on the small stages. They're mostly women, but some men are thrown into the mix as well.

I don't look at their bodies for too long. It always makes me feel a ton of different things and most of them aren't pleasant.

I'm just grateful for the glamour I'm wearing. Hermione showed it to me. It's not really a change of my face, but more like a Confundus charm – people look at me and then look away, not really noticing I'm here at all.

George pointed out that that's not the best strategy if one is trying to pull, but since I'm not, I think it's perfect.

My friends, who all know me so well, can see through it, even though Ron has already complained that it hurts his eyes.

„Firewhiskey good with you?“ Ron asks and I nod, hopping on one of the high stools.

The bass is thrumming in my breatbone, the beat making me twitchy. I watch the dancers, then throw back the first shot.

It doesn't take long for George to disappear into the crowd, certainly on the prawl. Ncuti lingers for almost an hour until he gives in. „Would you guys think bad of me if I went and watched this girl over there?“

Ron and I share a look. My friend grins and pats Ncuti roughly on the shoulder. „Not at all. Enjoy yourself, mate.“

Ncuti grins back and off he goes.

„Has he ever had a relationship since we're working together?“ I ask.

Ron frowns and orders another round. If I don't watch it, I'll be drunk very soon.

„Don't think so, no.“

„Maybe he's hung up on an ex,“ I muse.

Story of my life. It's really sad, going from pathetically pining over a girl I've known for quite a while wouldn't be my forever, to pathetically whining over my former nemesis, hooker and Ex-Death-Eater _and_ murderer, who blackmailed me to get out of jail.

Whenever I tell it to myself like that, I really can't believe I'm missing him.

I hate him, of course. When I think of him, it feels like screaming under water. Like being on the brink of orgasm and never finding release.

I hate him with a passion I hardly can muster for anyone. Only Voldemort and the Dursleys can compare. Even though that was a different kind of hate.

I drain my drink.

Getting Draco cleared wasn't possible without planting some false evidence. It wasn't easy at all and I don't think that it would have worked if I wasn't Harry Potter. I know that Ncuti and Angelina are still not buying it, but since Ron and I were an unshakable front, they finally relented. Accepted our insistence that Draco had an alibi – he was with that client the whole night (he wasn't) and he only confessed because he knew it would look better in court (maybe that's true, I still don't know).

Our work relationship has never quite been the same since.

Another thing Draco broke for me. The trust of my colleagues.

„I'll take a piss,“ I say and get up. The room is on the verge of spinning.

I'm drinking too much since Draco fucked me over. But I'd been drinking a lot after Ginny, too, so I'm not too worried. It'll pass eventually.

I squeeze through too many people. Their body odour, the perfume and sweat and aftershave, make me a little sick.

Pushing the door to the loo open, I'm greeted by even worse smells: Piss and Gillyweed and the faint reek of spunk.

I'm just on my way to one of the stalls (I never use a urinal because I'm weird like that), when I notice him.

He has already seen me, of course he has. He's probably not as pissed as I am.

For a long moment, I just stare at him.

His hair is as long as I remember it. His eyes shocked and pale under the black make up.

I haven't seen him since he left my house, so many months back. I didn't want to. I let Ron handle it.

But now he's here. Close enough to touch.

And, by the looks of it, probably waiting for a client.

I'm not sure what I want to do most: Scream at him, hurt him or kiss him. All urges are equally strong.

His throat moves as he swallows.

„I didn't know you'd be here,“ he says, voice hoarse. „I'll leave.“

He's already moving when I say, loudly: „That's all you have to say to me?“

Draco stops. Turns his head. There is fear in his eyes. Defiance. Hurt.

And guilt. _Good_.

„I'm rather sure _I'm sorry_ won't cut it.“

My mouth twists. „No, it won't.“

I hate myself more than I have ever hated myself before. Because I still want him.

I want him so much, I can't breathe.

My fingers curl into fists. „Why?“

„Why what?“ he asks, eyes wary.

„Why did you fuck me? Was that your plan all along? To get blackmail material?“

His eyes dart around the empty loo.

„Does it matter now?“

„Yeah, it does.“ My voice is still too loud. Sodding booze.

When his pretty eyes soften, I almost can't stop myself from slamming him against the next wall. I can't deal.

„No, that wasn't my plan all along.“

His lips twitch and his brows crease as if in pain, almost. „I know it won't change anything, I know what I did, but... for what it's worth - I'm sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry.“

He gasps in fear as I slam him against the cold tiles. My hands are on his collar, too tight. My eyes must be slits.

„Don't call me that. Ever again.“

I can feel his heart racing under his cool skin. The fragile bones.

„Alright.“

I sneer and can't resist pushing him against the wall once more before stepping back.

„We're not on a fucking first name basis anymore.“

With that, I turn around and storm out of the loo before I forget myself.

* * *

I'm on my way home on a chilly night in April, rain hanging heavy in the air, when I see a huge bloke following Pansy, who's approaching our flat from the opposite direction.

It's weird, her going out without me, but since I'm working at night... not much chance to party together. Sometimes we do it anyway. But those are the times we're late with rent.

I up my steps.

„Leave me alone,“ I can hear her say. Sharply.

The blokes says something I don't understand, but I reckon I don't have to. They're all the same.

I up my pace once more, my exhausted legs protesting, when I see the guy grabbing Pansy's wrist.

It's not like I wouldn't think Pansy could take on that bloke – if her wand wasn't restricted. Like me, she's not allowed to cast curses or hexes. Meaning this man probably has the upper hand.

But now they both see me.

The look I shoot the bloke is cold as ice. „I think she just told you to leave her alone.“

He narrows his eyes at me. „And I think you should fuck off, twat.“

I give him a dead smirk that has him swallowing, eyes darting around. He has the bad luck to get me after a long night and I'm just so not in the mood for even only one more stupid prick.

„Either you let her go right now,“ I say, voice barely more than a whisper. „Or I'll hex you so bad that you'll come running to your mama, _crying_.“

The bloke swallows again. Says: „Stupid cunts.“ Turns around and leaves.

Pansy and I lock eyes and shakes our heads. „Thanks, love.“

She links our arms and I kiss her head. There was a time while I would always beeline to the shower after a night of work, wished Pansy wouldn't see me like this, but those times are long over. She doesn't care and so I don't either.

„I'm tired,“ she says as we slip through the door into our flat.

„Me too. But I've got to clean up first.“

„I'll be waiting,“ Pansy says.

But by the time I return from my shower, squeaky clean again, but throat still uncomfortably sore, she's already sound asleep. I crawl under the sheets behind her, wrap an arm around her warm body and follow her to dreamland.

It's early evening when it knocks on the door. I'm sitting in front of Pansy's and my broken mirror, painting my face. She's still working, meaning I don't get any compliments on my perfect wing or the subtle highlighter on my cheekbones.

I open the door, thinking it must be Pansy who's home early.

My heart stops. Even my perfect make up has a tough time concealing my shock.

„Potter.“

His jaw is working, gaze dark as he enters my flat. Something painfully sharp is stuck under my breastbone.

„What are you doing here?“

As he turns and looks at me, accusation and pain are bright on his face. Anger.

Harry has always been easy to read.

„Ginny got married today,“ he says.

I don't know how to respond. I'm not sure if he's saying that to somehow hurt me or if he is actually drunk enough to wind up in my flat by accident.

„It's fine,“ he says, looking around the room.

I've never quite figured out how Harry's stance toward his ex. He doesn't like that she's marrying someone else. But he doesn't seem all that heartbroken either.

„What do you want?“ I ask.

I don't say it harshly. Nor do I say it seductively.

It's a real, valid question. And I'm so tired of games. Even though that's laughable, coming from me.

Playing games is all I ever do, isn't it?

Harry snorts. Then he makes a noise that is so pained, I can't help myself. I step forward, into his space.

Green eyes are narrowed at me. He smells of vodka, definitely not sober, but he's not out of his mind drunk.

„I hate you,“ he whispers. His hands are curled into fists.

„I know. Harry -“

„ _Don't_ say that.“

The Gryffindor takes a shaking breath. I think I should be scared of him, but at this point, I'd honestly let him do to me whatever he wants.

„How was I so _fucking_ stupid?“ He's breathing hard. His eyes are flickering from my face and back. „The fuck was I thinking, fucking you – You're a horrible person. You always have been. And what do I do?“

He shakes his head. Steps back.

The room is way too small for both of us.

„I really can only blame myself,“ he says. The words are pearls on a string, the string ripping. The words tumbling down.

„No,“ I say. „It was all my fault.“

Harry laughs and I've never heard him sound so cold. „Of course it was. But how I could ever trust you is really beyond me. You'd think after surviving a fucking war, I'd be smarter.“

He turns to the door and somethig inside of me snaps. I follow him, one hand to his shoulder. Too fast for me to process it, he spins around. Shoves me away. My shoulder bumps against the wall.

„I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, alright?“ I breathe heavily through my nose. „But you don't know everything.“

Harry raises his brows. Dark amusement, exhaustion and a tiny sliver of hope are shimmering in his green irises.

„And what do I not know?“

I bite my lip. Stay quiet.

At once, Harry's anger returns with full force.

„You bullied me and my friends, you almost killed at least two people, among them my best friend. You let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Everything correct so far?“

My heart is solid metal, pulling me down. „Yes.“

„You had sex with me to get leverage just in case we'd catch you. You lied to me, made me think I could trust you and then went and threatened to destroy my career if we didn't let you go. Because you _killed_ Runcorn.“

I open my mouth to say something, but Harry isn't done yet. „You didn't think twice to throw me under the bus to save your own undeserving arse. Did you, Malfoy?“

Finally, _finally_ , anger comes to my aid. It ignites in my belly, shoots into my limbs and my head. I push off the wall and square my shoulders.

„You can believe I'm a horrible person all you want, Potter. It's true. But I didn't blackmail you to save myself. And I didn't kill Runcorn.“

I swallow, but push away my pride and caution. None of that means anything anymore. „And I didn't sleep with you because I had anything _planned_. I did it because I wanted to. And how I remember it, I even _told_ you to think about yourself. About what that might mean for your career. So, go ahead and hate me. I deserve it. But don't blame me for everything just because you've got trust issues.“

Harry says nothing. Somehow, the silence compells me to say even the very last thing. The thing that makes me feel ugly and weak – and so fucking furious.

„And, by the way, Runcorn raped me. I'm not going to tell you what it felt like and how the months afterward were _hell_. I'm just going to point out that Runcorn was a fucking rapist and the Ministry doesn't give a flying fuck about it. Never has.“

Harry opens his mouth. His voice comes out quiet. „No one has ever reported him.“

A sneer is twisting my mouth. „His wife has. But they decided there wasn't enough proof and, well, she's his _wife_ , so how could he ever hurt her?“

I'm breathing hard, but I refuse to allow the walls to cave in on me. 

After a long silence, Harry says: „I'm really sorry about that. About what happened to you and that no one helped you.“

I look away and tell myself that his words don't mean anything anymore. He hates me anyway.

„But I can't trust you anymore. You say we got it wrong, that you're not responsible for Runcorn's death. But you confessed before. I don't know what to think and, honestly, I don't even want to think about it at all anymore.“

„Fine!“ I'm loud now. „Then go.“

Harry's jaw twitches. He shifts his weight.

I stand there and stare at him until he finally leaves.

* * *

It takes me almost a whole work day to screw up the courage to talk to Ron. The sun is already golden and both of us are more pretending to work than actually getting anything done, when I say: „What if it wasn't Malfoy?“

Ron lifts his head.

„Who killed Runcorn?“

I nod, playing with my quill. Knowing I should leave it, but unable to. „I just... I know that I'm – stupid about him. But it doesn't _feel_ like he's done it.“

I'm convinced that Ron will tell me I'm a moron that is still thinking with his dick. I'm honestly not sure he'd be wrong about it.

The fair haired Slytherin has wrapped me around his finger pretty good.

But to my utter surprise, Ron scrubs a hand through his hair, looks at the surface of his desk and says, not looking at me: „I agree.“

„You do?“

My astonishment must be evident, because Ron groans. He looks tired.

„Yeah, unfortunately. But... he was lying to us.“

Ron looks at me. „Why would he lie if he didn't do it? He couldn't have said anything to make things worse.“

„It's just, if it wasn't Malfoy, the killer is still out there.“

Ron snorts and reaches for a bowl of peanuts, almost empty. „He's out there either way.“

I rub my face, exhausted. „Right. But – see? That's what I'm talking about.“

„Malfoy's not a killer,“ Ron finishes for me.

„Yeah.“

The quill between my fingers has seen better days. I must have uncosciously picked up the habit of picking at the feathers.

„I hate him though,“ Rons adds, voice dark. „The audacity to fuck _you_ over...“

The weird, strange, _terrible_ urge to defend Malfoy rises in me.

„I mean, _yeah_ , agreed, but... he was scared to death. It was Azkaban or selling me out.“

Ron looks at me sharply. „You saved his fucking life, Harry. _Twice_ , actually. Draco Malfoy owes you big time.“

My head is pounding the next day at the office and I plan on sleepwalking through my hours. Hoping an overdose on caffeine might wash the alcohol out of my bloodstream.

I'm only half a cup in though when Ncuti bursts through the door and disturbs my lethargic unproductivity.

Ron looks up, not very chatty yet. He never is before nine in the morning.

But Ncuti has never cared about that and he doesn't now, either.

„Draco Malfoy killed Runcorn. I told you before and I have proof now.“

I blink. Ron frowns and rubs his temples. „Mate, we've filed that bloody case months ago.“

Ncuti's face is hard. „Yes, because you two somehow didn't want to solve it anymore. But I do. And I have.“

With razor sharp precision, Ncuti puts a knife on the table. It looks like the one Petunia always used to chop meat.

„What is that?“ I ask, staring at it as if it would start talking eventually.

„The murder weapon.“

Ron looks up at him, brows furrowed. „Where'd you get that?“

„Fished it out of the Thames. Took a while, you can believe that.“

„But...“ I don't even know what questions to ask.

„How does that tell us Malfoy's the killer?“ Ron asks, „We knew that Runcorn's throat was slit already.“

„Because this is Malfoy's knife.“

Ncuti picks it up and shows us the small initials on the side, magically carved into the metal.

I stare at Ncuti in blatant disbelief. „Are you kidding me? Come one, Ncuti. _No one_ marks their fucking knives.“

My colleague is clearly unimpressed. „People who live on the street would.“

„Malfoy doesn't -“

„He did. Unlike you, I really did my research. He lived on the streets for two months after his trials.“

I rub my face. Look at the knife again. „This doesn't prove anything. _Anyone_ could have carved the initials into that bloody knife. It's just another piece of Malfoy being framed.“

Ncuti exhales heavily through his nose. „The knife was thrown into the Thames and magically cleaned of fingerprints. It wasn't meant to be found. I only did because I examined the wound again and played around until I knew what I was looking for.“

„Can you trace the magic?“ Ron asks.

Ncuti shakes his head and puts the knife back down on the desk. „It was only this one small spell to clean it. Not enough to leave a real signature.“

„But... how can you know it's really the murder weapon? Couldn't it just be a knife that looks about the same?“

The look Ncuti throws me is somewhere between exasperated and pitiful. „Theoretically? Yes. But do you really believe in such a huge coincidence? Wizards don't throw knives into the river on a daily basis, Harry.“

I look at the knife. The initials in the handwriting I know better than I should.

„Why are you two protecting Malfoy?“ Ncuti asks. His gaze slides from one of us to the other.

When no one answers him, his brows knit together. He's very calm when he says: „I trusted you guys. I know you're good Aurors and good people, so I thought you had your reasons. But I can't do that any longer with you actively hindering investigations with no apparent reason! Either you talk to me now, or I will talk to Robards.“

„Don't stick your nose in other people's -“ Ron starts, but I put a hand on his arm to stop him.

Then I turn to Ncuti. My heart is pounding hard and fast, but my voice is calm, when I say: „I've had sex with Malfoy. He threatened to talk.“

For a few seconds, Ncuti thinks I'm joking. When he realizes I'm dead serious, his face falls. „Fuck, Harry. What the hell?“

„I know. I don't... there's no excuse.“

Ncuti rubs his face. The corners of his mouth turn downwards. „Now I wish you wouldn't have told me.“

He wraps his arms around himself, then lets them hang down again.

„I understand if you have to report me,“ I say quietly.

Ncuti closes his eyes and bites his bottom lip.

„Fuck you, Harry. And I mean that.“

With that, he leaves the office and I feel worse than ever.

Ncuti doesn't snitch on me, but he does bring Malfoy in.

It hurts, physically, to see the blond sitting on the hard chair again, this time, handcuffed to the table. His long hair is falling around his face. Exhaustion has drawn lines around his mouth and carved his face.

He doesn't say much. He also never looks at me.

I'm only in the background, letting Ncuti and Ron interrogate him. Read him his rights. All the time, I'm waiting for Malfoy to open his mouth about me. But he doesn't.

The only thing Malfoy really says is when Ncuti shows him the knife.

„Do you recognize that?“ Ncuti asks.

Malfoy looks at it. „Yes. That belongs to me.“

„Why did you carve your initials into the metal?“ Ron asks.

„Because it's always good to mark your belongings when you're homeless. People steal.“

For the first time during this interrogation, Ron turns around to look at me.

In his eyes, I see the same question I'm asking myself.

Why the hell would someone use a knife with their bloody _initials_ on it as a murder weapon?

It's Ncuti though who asks it out loud.

Malfoy shrugs with one shoulder.

„It was what I had on hand in the moment. I thought it would be better than doing it magically. I didn't expect you to find it.“

He looks at the table. „I didn't plan this. I just... I was in the moment and made the decision on one night.“

The look on his face breaks me.

Ncuti's voice isn't soft, but it's also not harsh, when he says: „You can plead on mental instability. The judges will take the trauma you experienced into account.“

Malfoy just nods.

„That would be all, I think.“ Ncuti gathers his files.

Suddenly, I can't hold back. I step forward, into the light and look Malfoy in the eyes. „Why the hell are you confessing now and lying to me about it when we're alone? You said you didn't do it.“

Grey, shuttered eyes find my face. „I thought you realized by now that I can't be trusted, Potter.“

I lock my teeth so I won't scream. Swiftly, I turn around and stride ahead as Ncuti and Ron take Malfoy in their middle and lead him down the hallway.

Just before they put him into his cell again, Ron leans in and says: „If you say anything about Harry, Malfoy – anything at all – I'll make sure that you'll be sharing a cell with Greyback in Azkaban. Understood?“

Malfoy nods and Ron locks the door behind him.

„That was unnecessary,“ I say as we're on the way out of the Ministry, my heart pounding too fast and constantly feeling like I'm going to be sick.

„What?“

„Threatening him with Greyback. That was low, Ron. And wrong.“

My friend rolls his eyes. „I wouldn't actually do it. But he believes I would and that's all I need.“

We're headed to our favourite pub, even though I don't feel like eating anything.

Over untouched greasy fries, I say: „Maybe I should change professions.“

Ron just grunts. „Yeah, what's up with our intution lately?“

„I have no idea.“

When Robards calls me into his office the next day, I think I already know what's coming. At the latest when I see his face.

He asks me about Malfoy. Tells me in what a difficult position I've put him.

„I understand,“ is pretty much all I say, even though I'm seething.

But there is no way I can justify my stupid actions. I knew better. I was aware it was stupid.

What should I say?

That doesn't mean I don't feel tricked and cheated.

Robards rubs his forehead, mouth pinched.

„I'll see what to do about this, Auror Potter. You're dismissed.“

Stepping out of the door, I run into Ron an Ncuti.

„I didn't tell him, Harry,“ Ncuti says, looking almost frightened.

„I'll fucking kill Malfoy.“

„No, Ron!“

But my best mate is already dashing toward the holding cells, me close on his heels.

Malfoy, curled up on the plank bed as he was, lifts his head in irritation as we both burst into the room. Ron has the door to the cell unlocked before I can do anything.

„What -“

„You little motherfucker.“

Wand drawn, Ron presses Malfoy against the wall. The Slytherin's eyes are wide.

„Ron, for fuck's sake!“

Only after a mild stinging hex, Ron lets go of Malfoy. I grab his arm. The blond's eyes dart between us.

„You are such a -“

„Leave it,“ I hiss at Ron, pain and fury and guilt curling in my chest.

„Are you happy now, Malfoy? You know you're going to Azkaban anyway. You've gained exactly nothing, you fucking bastard.“ Ron is fuming.

Malfoy's brow arches. „I have no idea what you're talking about.“

„I'm so _sick_ of your lying arse, I -“

Before Ron can break free of my grip and attack Malfoy, someone approaches the cell.

„Let him go or I'll have to report you both.“

Angelina looks tired. Weary, almost.

„She is right.“ I drag Ron out of the cell and lock it without looking at Malfoy one more time. I can't.

„ _Don't_ think you're getting off that easily,“ Ron hisses.

Angelina meets my eyes. „He didn't say anything. I did.“

I stare at her. „What?“

„Ncuti told me. He thought I'd keep it under wraps. But I couldn't do that.“ Her dark eyes are still on me. „Harry, I'm sorry. But you were sabotaging a _murder investigation_. I'm not risking my own career by covering for you.“

Betrayal and understanding fight for dominance in my chest.

„What the fuck, Angelina?“ Ron sounds hurt.

The witch bites her lip, then swallows thickly. Her posture doesn't betray any weakness.

„This is exactly what we've always hated about the older Aurors. They're covering each other's arses, no matter what shit they pull. I'm not going to be like them. We promised that!“

I look at my feet. When I make to push past her, she grabs my hand. „Harry, I'm really sorry. I don't think they'll fire you, honestly. But I had to – It's _wrong_. I wouldn't have said anything if you two didn't let Malfoy go, but...“

I pull my arm away. „I get it.“

I do.

Once again – no one to blame but myself.

I wish that Robards wouldn't have sent for me again that same evening.

I'm just... done. I need a break. A break and a bottle of Firewhiskey to burn away Malfoy's taste still lingering on my tongue. Obliviate him from my house and etch his scent out of my sheets.

But Robards won't grant me a break, so I'm sitting in his office once again – next to a handcuffed Malfoy, this time.

„So, Auror Potter. As we've discussed this morning already, there is a problem we need to sort out.“

I say nothing, but Robards doesn't need me to.

He turns to Malfoy instead. „Is it true that you've had sexual intercourse with Auror Potter while you were a suspect in the murder case of Albert Runcorn?“

A long pause.

„Yes.“

I try to drown out his voice. Block out his body next to me.

„Was it... a business transaction? Did he pay you?“

„No. I asked him not to.“ This time, the response came faster.

„So you slept with him because you hoped it would save you from Azkaban?“

„Yes.“

I stare at the ground and will myself to stay calm.

„Did you coerce him?“

„Yes, I did. He told me no in the beginning, but... I have my methods.“

Now I do look at him, brows drawn.

Robards seems content.

„So you had sex with Auror Potter while he wasn't able to give consent?“

„Yes. He wouldn't have slept with me if I didn't use some tricks.“

My jaw drops.

„What tricks?“

Malfoy meets Robard's gaze almost serenely. „There are some spells that highten sex drive and desire. And I've also resorted to the a little more... mundane method alcohol.“

„No, that's not true,“ I say loudly. „He's lying. It wasn't like that.“

The look Robards gives me might have been funny under different circumstances.

„People that are being coerced don't always realize it happens, Potter.“

Now I'm fuming. My hands are gripping the edge of Robard's desk.

„I can throw off a fucking imperius curse, _sir_. I think I'd at least _notice_ when my mind's being meddled with, if that is what you're implying.“

Robard's eyes narrow. „Manners, Potter. Or I'll have to remove you.“

I spin around, meeting Malfoy's eyes. He's calm and collected and I want to fucking throttle him.

„Stop lying!“

„Oh, so we didn't get drunk together?“

„That wasn't -“

Malfoy ignores me and turns back to Robards. „He wasn't able to think clearly. I made sure of that.“

Robards nods and jots something down. „Very well, Mr. Malfoy. You'll be returning to your cell and -“

„Why on earth would he admit it if he had he really done that?“ I ask.

Another look from Robards. „You are dismissed.“

When I burst through Ron and Hermione's door that night and Hermione opens, I push past her into the living room, already starting my rant.

„I'm so fucking over -“

In the doorframe to the living room, I freeze.

Ginny is blinking at me from the sofa. Quickly closing her mouth, she gets up. „I was just about to leave.“

The smile she gives me couldn't fool anyone. She's half out of the door when I turn. Call after her.

She looks at me, not with mistrust. But almost warily. Guarded.

„I'm sorry that I left your wedding early,“ I say. „I'm really happy for you, honestly. Luna looked gorgeous and so did you.“

A real smile grazes Ginny's features.

„Thanks, Harry.“

With that, she leaves.

Hermione comes over, standing in front of me. „Is everything alright?“

I look at her, about to say _yeah, all good_ , and then changing my mind. „No. It's really not.“

She takes my hand and sits me down on the sofa.

„Tell me.“

I do. I talk about everything – about the case, about Malfoy and I. About Robards and the trial. I'm not completely done by the time Ron joins us, but he doesn't interrupt me.

When I'm finally finished, Hermione looks rather baffled. „Wow, um... that's a lot.“

„You don't say.“

I hide my hands in my face. „How am I so fucking stupid?“

Hermione rubs my back soothingly.

„We all make mistakes,“ Ron says.

I look at him, then Hermione. „What do I do about Robards now? Malfoy was lying. I can't just... accept that.“

Ron and Hermione share a look. „Are you sure he was lying, Harry?“

I think back to that first night in the car. To the second time when I sought him out. The frown on his face.

„I'm sure.“

Hermione studies my face for a moment. „Well, in that case... You have to realize that it won't make much of a difference for Malfoy. But it will make a huge difference for you.“

My eyes narrow. „I'm not that kind of person, Hermione. I won't let him suffer the consequences of my mess.“

Ron sighs and mutters something along the lines of _too bloody kind_ , but I ignore him.

„Then you have to talk to Robards again. Convince him.“

„He wants to put the blame on Malfoy,“ I say.

Rons snorts. „Of course he does. Last thing he wants to do is sack you.“

„Well, then he'll have to find a way not to sack me while still acknowledging it was my fault, not Malfoy's.“  
Hermione squeezes my shoulder. „Harry, is he really worth it? You don't owe him anything.“

„I know I don't. But I... He should pay for the crimes he actually commited. Not for mine.“


	6. Chapter 6

I burst into Robard's office while he is preparing Malfoy for his trial.

Both men look at me startled.

„Auror Potter, what -“

„You'll strike the charge against him that concerns me,“ I say.

Robards puts his quill down and the look on his face would intimidate me, if I wouldn't have such a problem with respecting authorities.

Not that I don't know how to be respectful or even be unwilling to submit to someone else. But only when I feel like the person has earned it.

And right now, Robards just pisses me off.

„Who do you think you are? Bursting into my office and telling me what to do.“

My jaw is set. „I'm Harry Potter and I'm telling you to strike that charge. It's _not true_. I came on to Malfoy and I know that was wrong and I'm willing to accept the consequences. If you have to punish me or even fire me, I understand that. But I won't let you pin it on him.“

Robards closes his eyes for a short moment. Some of the many papers on his desks flutter.

„Alright, Auror Potter. As you wish. You are suspended.“

Malfoy bristles. „That's ridiculous. Do you have any idea how many Aurors are found every night in Knockturn Alley, paying some two-knut hooker to shoot their load into?“

Stunned silence for the blink of an eye.

„Those two-knut hookers are usually not suspects in a murder case,“ Robard says. His eyes dart between me and Malfoy.

„If it wasn't clear already, you are removed from the case,“ Robard tells me.

* * *

I'm freezing on my plank bed. It's not really cold in the cells, but my clothes are thin and the cold isn't coming from the outside anyway.

When I hear the door down the hallway open and then steps approaching my cell, I think it's Weasley again, coming to beat the living daylights out of me.

But it's not. It's Harry, probably with something similar in mind.

He looks calm enough as he approaches me. Looks at me through the bars.

I gaze into his green eyes, forcing myself to feel the pain for a few moments, before I say: „I'm sorry I made everything worse for you. I didn't mean for Robards to think you'd like me.“

It's clearly not true, but of course, Potter's strong sense of justice is kicking in. I should have known he wouldn't let me lie for him, even though he doesn't deserve to get punished for the mess I've made.

Part of me whispers he does. Part of me screams how unfair all of this is.

I didn't ask to take the mark – I _wasn't_ asked. I didn't ask to get raped. I didn't ask –

„Why did you lie? We both know you didn't coerce me.“

I lean my head against the cold wall. „It was the least I could do. And it wouldn't have made much of a difference for me.“

Harry looks at me for a long time.

„I want the truth, Draco.“ The name zips through me like an electric shock. My whole body aches. Yearns. _Craves_.

„Did you kill Runcorn? Yes or no?“

I open my mouth. Harry curls one hand around the bars. „No more lies.“

I look at the wall. Inside, I'm torn in half.

The new me against the old. Good against bad.

I look into his eyes and say: „Yes. I did.“

Harry just keeps on looking at me. I can't read him. „And what about me?“

These words aren't coming so easily to him. They have to be forced out. „Did you... only sleep with me because it would give you leverage?“

I shake my head before he's even finished. „No. I didn't. I honestly didn't think of it.“

Suddenly, the urge to be honest for _once_ , makes me say it all. „I mean, yes, I did think about it once, briefly. After the first time. But I never planned anything. I didn't do it because of that at all. I swear.“

The last words are quiet. I know that my vows and pleas and promises have long lost their meaning.

My heart loses its rhythm when Harry slowly slides his arm through the bar. My pulse is beating hard in my throat as I move my own hand close enough for Harry to take it.

When his fingers curl around mine, the world narrows to skin on skin.

Neither of us says anything. We just breathe, the pad of Harry's thumb stroking over the bone of mine. Only when we hear distant steps, Harry pulls his hand back.

He leaves and I carefully build a small, sturdy box for the memory, intending to open it whenever I feel like I should have just killed myself the moment I got the order to kill Dumbledore.

* * *

I'm sitting on my kitchen table, spoon hovering over a bowl of soggy cereal, regretting my life choices, when Ron's patronus bursts through the window.

_Parkinson is in my office. She only wants to talk to you. I'll send her over._

My brows knit together and I head into the living room to the fireplace.

I barely have to wait a minute, before green flames are heating up the room for a moment and Pansy Parkinson is stumbling out of my floo, quickly regaining her balance.

It's been a while since I've last seen her. Her eyes are huge and dark, rimmed by grey shadows. She's wearing a skirt and a thin long-sleeve tucked in. Muggle clothes.

„Parkinson,“ I say, tilting my head. 

She lifts her chin. „Potter. Thank you for seeing me.“

I gesture to the sofa. „Have a seat.“

She sits on the edge, knees together, spine straight as a board.

„Ron said you wanted to see me.“

„You're not working today?“ she asks instead of answering my question.

I study her. Impeccably painted nails, worn clothes. No make up.

„I'm actually suspended. So if you're here on official business, maybe you should talk to Ron.“

Parkinson's knuckles whiten as she locks her fingers.

„I'd like to talk to you first.“

„Okay. I'm listening.“

The witch looks at me with a gaze that reminds me of Draco. Assessing. A little bit scared.

„You've arrested Draco, right?“

I just nod.

„You'll throw him into Azkaban?“

„The trial takes place in a few days. But, yes. It looks rather dark for him.“

My voice is bitter. I'm not sure it's justified.

Parkinson swallows and then lifts her chin arrogantly. And maybe something else, too.

„I'm here to make a confession.“

My mouth opens slowly. My eyes narrow.

„ _I_ killed Runcorn. Not Draco.“

I lean back and let it sink in. She seems to think I don't believe her, because she hastily goes on.

„I wasn't trying to frame him – he was trying to protect me. He followed me that night. But he was too late, I was already done and gone, so he tried to cover my tracks with his. And threw the body into the Thames.“

„And why did you do it?“

Her mouth curls. „Because Runcorn raped Draco and no one gives a shit.“

She looks at her lap, then stares at me. „He told me the day I did it. I... didn't think about it. If I had, maybe I wouldn't have done it. But I needed to. Runcorn was a bad man, Potter. Someone had to do something and... you know that saying, that a Slytherin would kill for you? It's true. I'd do anything for Draco.“

For a moment, I bear the stinging, tearing, smug feeling that I _almost_ had it. I was so close. But I had the wrong woman.   
Not Narcissa, who might have done the same, but who didn't know, because Draco doesn't trust her anymore.

It was Parkinson, who is the only one Draco would trust with his life.

„And you're telling me that now because otherwise, Draco will go to Azkaban,“ I figure.

Parkinson nods. „I'd have done it sooner, but Draco told me to wait. He didn't do it, afterall, so there was a fair chance you wouldn't actually imprison him for it.“

„He confessed,“ I say.

„Yes. To protect me.“ There is a small trace of pride in Parkinson's voice.

Even though the situation is fucked up, I understand her. I honestly believe that I'm only still hanging around because I have two people I know would die for me. If it wasn't for Ron and Hermione, I might have given up somewhere along the way.

„I have to arrest you now.“ I get up and draw my wand.

Parkinson watches me calmly with a small, tight smile on her lips. „Go ahead, Saviour. That's what I'm here for.“

I'm not completely within my rights when I, after handing Parkinson over to Ron and Angelina, head to Draco's cell. He's curled up on his hard bed, legs drawn to his upper body, top leg higher than the bottom one. I'm not sure if he was sleeping.

He's definitely wide awake the moment I say his name.

Grey eyes find mine.

I unlock the door to the cell even though I know I'm not allowed to. Slip inside.

„Potter?“

I sit down next to him on his bed and try not to think about how beautiful he is with his hair loose and just a little messy, his eyes wide.

„I wanted you to hear it from me first.“ I reach out and take his hand.

I'm not sure he knows what's to come. The tightness around his mouth, the flicker in his eyes might indicate he does. But maybe he's just bracing himself for whatever horror is going to be thrown at him.

„Parkinson came to see me today. She confessed.“

Draco opens his mouth. „Confessed what?“

His fingers are icy in my hand. I rub them with both of mine. „That she killed Runcorn. You can drop the act now, Draco. I know.“

The Slytherin's brows furrow. Defiance is gleaming in his eyes. „She's just trying to protect me. Believe it or not, some people actually like me.“

I brush his hair behind his ear and then let my hand linger there. „I do believe that. And I know that _you_ were trying to protect _her_. Which I get. But you can't go to Azkaban for her.“

Draco caves. Breaks. His hands fly up, clawing at my shirt. There is something awfully close to madness etched into his face. „Don't. Don't let her do it. She's all I have.“

I cover his hands with mine. „I'm sorry.“

The noise Draco makes cuts me to the bone. It rings in the cell, bouncing off the cold stone.

„She doesn't deserve Azkaban. It was all my fault.“

„No, it wasn't.“

I pull him into my arms. He's squirming, pushing me away and pulling me close at the same time. I hold him tight, one hand on the back of his head. 

„I'm sorry, Draco. I'm really sorry.“

Somewhere along the way between furious hisses and superficial scratches, Draco's hands soften. He's winding them in the back of my shirt, his face hidden on my shoulder. I pet his hair, not knowing what to say and strangely okay with that, when I notice the very subtle shaking of his body.

He's crying.

„Draco,“ I whisper, my heart aching with every beat. I can't help myself. I drop kisses into his hair and pull him even closer. „I'm so sorry.“ It's the only thing I can say.

When Ncuti finds us like that, he isn't pleased, but doesn't comment.

„I have to take him with me now,“ he says to me.

I don't want to let Draco go. My arms won't open.

„Harry.“ The warning in Ncuti's voice is so clear that I obey.

Reluctantly, I loosen my grip. Before Draco can turn away, I take his shoulder. He lets a curtain of hair cover his features, but I push it behind his ears.

„I'll be there,“ I say. Then I let Ncuti take him.

Over his shoulder, leading Draco by his arm, he says: „I reckon he'll be free to go come tomorrow.“

* * *

I'm in a daze of long robes and obtrusive aftershaves, of stuffy cars and cheap lipstick. Time has lost its meaning. I can't tell if the man grabbing and dragging me is a john or an Auror.

They're all the same.

All I can really think of is Pansy. An eleven-year-old Pansy taking my hand, leading me to the Hogwarts Express because I was scared to go without my mom. A fourteen-year-old Pansy trying to kiss me and crying when I said I didn't like her back. Holding me when I later sneaked into the girl's loo with her and confessed to her that I was going to hell because I thought of men.

A twenty-one-year-old Pansy whose face turned to stone when I told her about Runcorn.

„Malfoy.“

It takes a while for the room to take on a shape. For the ugly beige walls to surface, the two mahagony desks littered with empty cups and paper stacks.

Weasley, sitting behind his desk, looking at me with a strange expression.

He tries talking to me, about Runcorn and Pansy, but I shut down immediately.

When he skirts the table and puts a hand to my shoulder, I don't flinch, but I do go cold. Dead-eyed, I look up at him. „If you try to fuck me, I'm going to scream very loudly.“

The ginger pulls his hand away as if I had just kicked him in the balls. „Merlin, Malfoy.“

His freckles are stark against his pale skin. „I'm just trying to be helpful here. You know you should...“

I block him out, letting his words morph into the chirping of birds at four a.m..

They allow me to see Pansy before I'm released. I'm brought into her cell.

Seeing her behind bars almost has me on my knees, but seeing her at all finally kickstarts my tired heart.

I stumble into the room, into her arms. She's significantly shorter than me and I fold myself around her. Maybe, if they can't see her, they won't be able to hurt her.

„Drake,“ she says against my chest.

I pulls back and look at her. „How can you be so fucking stupid?“

She grins. Her hand strokes over my arm. 

„You moron,“ I say, quietly.

„I've bought a new eyeshadow last week,“ she says. „It's on the nightstand. You should really try it out, I bet it would look gorgeous on you.“

„Probably.“

The guard behind us clears his throat. I want to hex him into oblivion. 

I already tried offering him a blow job if he gave us more time, but, of course, he wasn't bribable. Just my luck – getting the _one_ wizard working for the Ministry that's not willing to bend the rules a bit.

„Take care, Draco,“ Pansy says. Her eyes are shining.

I put a hand on her head and smile. I'm rather sure my eyes are shining, too. „You too.“

She nods, putting on a smile.

„I love you always,“ I say.

One tear. She lets one tear slip. „Always.“

„How many more times, Ferret?“

Weasley's grip on my arm might be painful, but I can hardly feel anything. I'm floating, my body so high high high. Mind detached.

I'm sat down on something (a chair, probably), somewhere (inside? A pub?) with someone (the Weasel. I'm pretty sure it's the Weasel).

„If I have to see your bare scrawny arse one more bloody time, I'll have to jump off the next rooftop.“

I hum. I think I want to say that my arse is not that scrawny, thank you very much, but somewhere on the way from my brain to my mouth, the words get lost.

„Soliciting sex in Knockturn might not be forbidden, but doing the Devil's Tango in public still _is_ , Malfoy.“

„Oh, really? I must have forgotten. Or, actually... I thought we were in his car.“ My musings are half lost in the very _loud_ background noise.

A hand finds mine.

„Merlin's balls, Ferret. How much did you take?“

I shrug. A lot, I guess. Too much. Not enough.

„You do realize that you could cost me my job every day, yeah? Okay, good. Good that you realize that.“

I manage to find his blue eyes for a moment and sneer. He knows that I'm endangering  _his_ job so I won't be endangering someone  _else's_ . That must be why, somehow, it's always Weasley who's stuck with the shit job of patrolling Knockturn Alley. I bet all Aurors hate it.

Or, well. Some are probably squeazing a quicky with one of the whores in and don't hate it  _that_ much.

„What the hell are you doing, Ferret?“

„Wasting my time in some sleazy pub with you, as it seems. What about you?“

A deep sigh leaves Weasley's mouth. „Come on. Let's get you home.“

* * *

I don't even wait for Ron to take his coat off, I'm already on him.

„How is he?“

Ron doesn't look at me, hanging his coat on the rack. „Like last time.“

„So bad.“

„Yeah.“

I ruffle my hair, ripping some out. „Just let me...“

Ron turns to me. „You have a beer for me?“

„Yeah. Sure.“

We head into my kitchen and I get two beers out of the fridge, ignoring the fact that it's five in the morning and it would probably be the time to get some sleep.

Especially regarding that at least I have to be in early for work tomorrow.

Ron takes a swig. I watch him.

„Do you really think that he still...“

My friend kicks off his shoes. „Look, if you want to try again, go ahead. But nothing's changed, Harry. He doesn't want to see you. He doesn't really want to see anyone.“

„You did tell him that he could visit Parkinson, right?“

Parkinson has been sent to Azkaban two weeks ago and Draco hasn't visited yet.

„I did. But he... I think he's trying to, just... not think. You know?“

My chest is an open wound. „Why is he not talking to me?“

„I told you, Harry. He thinks he'll hurt you.“ Ron's voice is soft.

We've had a huge fight about Draco last week. One of the biggest fights Ron and I ever had, only really topped by that one in the tent.

After I tried hunting Draco down, talking to him, helping him, three nights in a row, Ron made me go to bed the fourth night. Made me sleep and rest and went out himself.

While Draco had successfully avoided me every single time, he didn't even  _try_ running from Ron. My best mate was able to pick him up and feed him a little and bring him home, because he wouldn't have made it on his own, drugged out as he was.

At first, I was relieved. But when I realized that Draco wouldn't talk to me, but only to  _Ron_ , I lost it.

I knew it wasn't fair the moment I started yelling at Ron, but I couldn't stop myself. Only because Ron knew that, knew that I wasn't really angry at  _him_ , we managed to reconcile the next day.

„He's hurting me with _this_ ,“ I say, knuckles white around my bottle.

„I know. But I can't make him.“

I look at Ron, the early morning silence making our voices appear louder, heavier than they actually are. There is something about those hours that lends everything some kind of gravitas that it wouldn't have in the daytime.

„Do you even try? I mean... do you even want me to talk to him?“

Ron rubs his face. Dark circles are adorning his eyes.

„I don't, Harry. Malfoy is a _mess_. I just...“ He trails off.

„That's why he _needs_ me!“

„Yeah, but what about you? I doubt you need him, Harry. And it's not on you to save him.“

I look away. „It's not like that.“

„Then what's it like?“

I shrug. Lift my bottle. „He makes me... Since Ginny, since the War, actually, I've always been so  _angry_ . I hate that, hate  _myself_ for that, but I couldn't change it. But he makes me want to try. Be better.“

At Ron's expression, I add: „I know it sounds crazy and maybe it is. But I also know that I've never... cared so much so quickly.“

„I'm just not so sure that's a good thing, mate.“

I look at the floor. Say nothing. Ron goes on. „Look, I know that with him protecting Parkinson and all that, it put a lot of things in perspective. I'm not saying he's a monster or anything or doesn't have feelings. But when has he ever done something for you? When has he ever shown he cared?“

„He tried to convince Robards that he tricked me into having sex with him.“

Ron wobbles his head, acknowledging that. „Yeah, alright. That was... nice, I guess. But he didn't really have anything to lose anymore at that point.“

„So what?“

„You took so many risks for him. Has he ever taken one for you?“

I shift my weight. My jaw is locked and almost hurts with it. „That's not what it's about for me. He doesn't need to take fucking risks for me.“

„What is it about?“

I shrug and look at the floor, trying for casual. Knowing Ron knows me way too well to fall for it.

„Feeling needed. And... he made me – he made me feel like he cared about _me_. Like I wasn't just... a means to and end. Like he really just wanted to be with _me_.“

„Mate...“

I laugh and drain my bottle. Put it on the counter and wipe my hands on my jeans. „I know it's stupid. Maybe he played me all along.“

* * *

I almost have a stroke when I stumble over none other than Harry the moment I step out of the building.

He's leaning against the wall right next to the door, sitting on the dirty ground, legs outstretched, a bottle of vodka in his fingers.

Dazed green eyes find my face. Alcohol is dimming their light a bit.

„What are you doing here, Potter?“

The Gryffindor blinks at me, lips parted. „Dunno. What'bout you?“

He's the kind of drunk that makes standing up straight impossible. The playing with the demons kind of drunk.

I crouch down next to him. „Salazar, Potter.“

It's not cold (it rarely is in June, climate change or not), thank Merlin, but that doesn't mean it would be safe to hang out in a street like this all by yourself.

„Come on. Let's get you home.“ I take his hand and he curls his fingers around mine. 

The second he realizes I'm trying to get him to his feet so we can apparate, he yanks his hand away.

„No,“ he says, shaking his head, eyelids fluttering.

„Potter, you can't stay here. It's dangerous.“

Unimpressed, he leans his head of shaggy hair against the wall. „I don't wanna go home.“

His eyes widen as he looks at me earnestly. „They're having a party and I  _hate_ it. I didn't wanna... I had to  _go_ .“

Attempting to have a sensible conversation with Harry right now would be moronic, so I just hum and try pulling him up again. He lets me, this time.

When he's swaying, I catch him – not an easy task when you're a bag of bones like me.

„I'll get you home,“ I say and pretend that the hand I've put on his back is simply there for steadying purposes.

„I don't wanna.“ Harry buries his face in the crook of my neck. His arms come around me, pulling me in tight. He's clinging to me and it's getting to my head.

„Harry.“

„Please,“ he whispers. The stench of alcohol is pungent, but I couldn't push him away if I wanted to. Which I don't.

„Okay,“ I say, knowing it's going to be another mistakes.

But what is one more on the heap of the messes I've already made?

Getting Harry up the stairs and into my bed is far from easy, but I manage. The problem is, he won't let go of me as I try to get him comfortable on the sheets. His arms are around my neck, one on my waist and he pulls me in, on top of him.

„Harry, you have to rest,“ I try, but he's clutching at me like I'd be a bloody lifebuoy.

„Draco.“ One of his hands is running over my waistband, then up under my shirt. I'm not sure he even means it in a sexual way. It's clear as day that he won't be getting it up anytime soon.

His eyes are swimming with a force that I should be scared of, but I'm not. Only scared for him.

I stroke his cheeks and he closes his eyes. When he opens them again, they're fixated on mine.

„You're so pretty,“ he murmurs. „I just wanna look at you.“

A stinging hex hits me right in the center of my chest. „I have to go now,“ I say, still draped over his body, my hands on his face. „You sleep.“

Harry shakes his head. His hands are pulling me in tighter, against that furnace of a body. Under all the alcohol, I can smell him and it makes me want to sink into him, melt against him.

„Stay,“ he says, one clumsy hand in my hair.

„I have to work, Harry.“

The Gryffindor looks at me sullenly, the corners of his mouth pointing downward. „You mean shag.“

I arch a brow. „That's the same thing for me.“

Harry just shakes his head and tries to brush my hair back, but ends up almost poking a finger into my eye.

I swat his hand away, but can't stop the smile spreading on my face.

„I hate that you fuck other people,“ he says. „I want you for myself.“

I can't meet his eyes. A whirlwind of contradicting emotions is rising in my chest.

When I speak, I make my voice sharp: „I'm not your property, Potter. And what I do for work is none of your business.“

The kicked-puppy look Harry gives me almost makes me want to take the words back.

„When you've had sex with me, was that... just another bloke to you?“

Before I can answer him, another thought seems to strike him. He frowns lightly. „D'you like fucking blokes?“

I have to smile despite the topic. „I do like fucking blokes, yes. Women never really did it for me, you see.“

Harry stares at me with his mouth open, not able to comprehend why his question didn't come across right.

I take pity on him, my hands caressing his face. „But if you mean whether I enjoy prostituting myself, I believe we have covered that already.“

„So... do you?“

„Not really, no. But it got me this flat for – for Pansy and I. So it was worth it.“

Thinking of Pansy hurts, but Harry's expression distracts me. „You could live with me. I'd let you be princess.“

I laugh a little so that I won't cry.

„You're very drunk, Harry,“ I say gently.

As carefully as I can, I detach myself from him and pull the sheets over his body. „Sleep now.“

Like a vice, Harry's hand catches mine. „Please stay.“

I cover his hand with both of mine like he has done to me before and stroke his hot skin.

„I will.“

* * *

I'm woken up by someone driving nails into my skull. With a groan, I blink my eyes open. They're crusted and half-blinded by the morning light.

When they land on Draco, I doubt my wakefulness for a few solid seconds. Until he speaks.

„See who has risen from the dead.“

A blond eyebrow is arched at me. I pretend that this wouldn't be what I've been dreaming of for weeks on end.

„Risen from the dead with a hangover from hell,“ I say, massaging my temples.

„I'm not surprised. You were a blabbing mess last night.“

Colour is rising in my cheeks. I'm not entirely sure what I've said to him last night, but the vague idea that I have is enough to make me squirm.

„Sorry for camping in front of your door,“ I say sheepishly.

Draco tilts his head, resting his forearms on the kitchen table. „Why did you?“

Three words, making a jolt of anger go through me. „It's not like I wouldn't have tried literally everything else to get you to talk to me.“

Draco looks to the side, his long, silver-gilt hair casting a deep shadow on his cheek.

„I didn't want to talk to you.“

I snort. „Yeah, I figured.“ My jaw clenches and I'm not sure if the nausea in my stomach is caused by alcohol or the Slytherin. „I don't really get why though.“

Draco throws me a look that is not quite, but almost annoyed. Disbelieving for sure. „What do you think, Potter? We're not good for each other. I am not good for anyone. So why the fuck should we be talking?“

I get up, even though leaving the sheets smelling of Draco isn't a very appealing prospect. „Jesus, you're such a drama queen.“

In a heartbeat, Draco is on his feet. Grey eyes are blazing. „I'm being reasonable.  _You_ are the drama queen. Getting pissed out of your mind at my front door? What's with that, huh, Potter?“

My heart is pounding. I feel sick.

„You're such a fucking areshole, Malfoy.“

A cruel, cold smirk is curling Draco's lips. „Always takes you a while to catch on, doesn't it?“

My magic is roaring, cackling in the room. Draco swallows, but doesn't budge. He's still looking at me, defiant. Pained.

„Why can't you just go and leave me alone?“ he asks.

The cackling stops. My magic is a tight ball deep in my chest.

„Because I like you, idiot.“

My confession is falling between us, freezing the air. I'm sure Draco can hear my frantic heartbeat.

„You're out of your mind, Potter.“

I swallow. My heart burns as if it would detonate any moment, leaving bloody tissue on the floor and the walls.

„Okay. I'll go.“

* * *

I'm still rightening my too-tight jeans when someone honks at me.  _Give me a fucking minute_ .

I flip my hair back and paste on a smile, approach the car and sit shotgun.

„Hey, handsome, what -“ The words die in my throat when I see who it is. Without thinking twice, I turn and try to open the door, get out again. But it's locked.

„What the fuck do you want?“ I spit.

Flint gives me an unimpressed look. „A punishment fuck, I guess. I've spent some days in a bloody cell because of your scrawny arse.“

My heart is pumping. „It's not happening, Flint. Let me out.“

Angry blue eyes are pinning me. „You little cunt. Never knew when to shut your stupid fucking mouth.“

I stare at him, the demon-prince Hatred slowly, but surely, overtaking the ghost-madam Fear. Accompanied by my old friend Anger.

„You knew what Runcorn did to me. You _saw_ him pulling me away. Did you hear?“

My blood is pumping, but I refuse to let the past drown me. It's over. I'm no longer in my father's study. Runcorn's body is nothing more than ashes by now. No hands that can touch me anymore.

„I did.“ Flint gives me a cold look. „You deserved it.“

The demon-prince leaves ghost-madam in the dust. „You're scum, Flint,“ I say quietly.

Flint laughs. „You got that twisted, little Malfoy.“

He grabs my left arm, pulls me closer and whispers into my ear: „I'll make you bleed, you filthy cunt.“

I don't think about it. Maybe that's why Flint can't read it in my eyes, has no chance to prepare. He's a capable wizard, afterall.

But my wand is drawn before he even realized I had reached into my pocket. My stunner hits him before his fingers touch his own wand.

„Alohomora,“ I say, wand pointing at the door of the car, heartbeat kicking. I stumble out and dash down the street.

There is no time for me to let it sink in – what I just did, what the consequences are, when Weasely appears right next to me and points his wand at me.

„Merlin's beard, Malfoy. You serious?“

I can only stare at him, feeling my heartbeat in my chest, my fingertips, my throat. Weasley's gaze is tired. „A fucking curse? Are you really that suicidal?“

I'm still not speaking. The shock of the events is making my body shake.

Weasley sees it and his dark red brows knit together. „You know I have to bring you in. I have no choice.“

All my instincts are telling me to shut my mouth, bow my head and take whatever is dished out.

But something inside me lifts his head. Keens. Shrieks at the unfairness of it all.

„Flint wanted to rape me,“ I blurt out.

Weasley lowers his wand. „What was that? Gabriel Flint?“

I nod. „I got into his car because I didn't see it was him. He threatened me. Grabbed me. I stunned him and got out.“

The Gryffindor gives me a long look. „Okay, Malfoy. Come with me. We'll take a look at him.“

Flint is still in his car, head tilted back uncomfortably, mouth open. Weasley doesn't take long before turning to me.

„Are you alright? Did he hurt you?“

I shake my head. Then remember my case and say: „But I know he wanted to.“

Weasley nods tightly. „Yeah, I believe you. He was probably pissed. Bastard.“

If I thought I'd stand a chance, I'd run now. But I know I don't, so I stay put, shifting my weight while Weasley is studying me.

„Do I have something on my face?“ I finally snap when I can't take it anymore.

Weasley's lips twitch. „I'm not bringing you in. This was clearly self-defense and it was just a stunner anyway. But if I don't bring  _you_ in, that means I can't bring in Flint either.“

I blink, confused. Weasley sees my irritation and explains: „I can't report a case of sexual assault without bringing you into it. I'm sorry. If you'd rather do that, we can.“

„What? No. No, I... That's fine.“ The thought hadn't even crossed my mind that I could report Flint for this.

Weasley nods. „Okay. I'll wake him now. But don't worry.“

The Auror slides into the car and casts a Renervate, while I only just keep from bolting.

„Oi, Flint.“

The man grunts, sighs. Rubs his face. „What...?“

„It's Auror Weasley.“

I'm a little surprised when Weasley puts his wand under Flint's jaw. „What the hell? I didn't do anything!“

Weasley snorts. „Yeah, we both know that's a lie.“ He leans in closer. I can see Flint's breath coming short. „Look, you little piece of shit. If you come near Malfoy again – if you even  _look_ his way – I'll fucking destroy your life. Got it?“

Weasley lowers his wand and gets out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him.

I stare at him.

A miracle happens.

„What are you looking at, Ferret?“

Weasley smiles at me.


	7. Chapter 7

„I want to visit Pansy.“

Weasley looks up from his desk as if I was some kind of guise. Better than the curses I had to duck in the Atrium, where some people thought I was here to overthrow the Ministry on a one-man mission.

„Um, okay. Yeah – I'll just...“ Weasley is still looking like a fish out of water, so I stride into the room and sit down on the free chair at the desk next to him.

About three seconds after I sat down, I realize whose chair I must be sitting on. That's about the same time as when Harry makes an appearance.

He stops dead in his tracks, almost dropping two cups of steaming coffee.

Our eyes lock and I'm drowning in green lakes.

Weasley clears his throat. „Malfoy wants to visit Parkinson,“ he informs his partner. Harry blinks. Slowly comes over and sets the cups down. I get up, vacating his desk. He doesn't look my way.

„Yeah, sure. I can take over here, if you want to go now.“

Weasley tries to catch Harry's gaze, but the brunet won't look at either of us.

„I could stay here, too.“

Harry shakes his head. „It's all good.“

My heart is thudding painfully. Harry's presence makes the room feel way too small. Then again, I doubt even the Great Hall would be big enough to contain Harry Potter.

„Okay. Then, um... let's go.“

I follow Weasley out of the office and pretend I wouldn't feel the growing distance between Harry and I with every step I take.

I planned to wait until Weasley's gone before breaking down. He has already seen me in states I really didn't want him to see me in, but that doesn't mean I want to add to the worryingly fast growing pile.

All those resolutions are flying out of the window the moment I lay eyes on Pansy.

She's huddled in the corner of her cell, her hair a mess, skinny arms slung around her dirty knees. I stumble, then run toward the cell. I hardly notice my legs giving in, even when my knees hit the hard, cold ground. My hair is a silky curtain on my shivering back as I close my hands around the bars.

„I'll give you two a minute,“ Weasley mumbles. I ignore him.

Pansy slowly looks up. When her eyes find mine, her expression is unreadable.

„Pans,“ I murmur. With my right, I reach through the bars, into her cold cell. „I'm here.“

„Took you long enough.“ She doesn't move from her spot on the wall.

Tears are clogging my throat, burning at the back of my eyeballs. „I'm sorry. I'm a coward.“

„I know. Sometimes.“

Slowly, she straightens her limbs and gets up. Her legs are wobbly as she heads over to me and half collapses on the other side of the bars. My hand finds her cheek. I stroke it until she catches it and intertwines our fingers. I squeeze. Her skin feels like a Dementor's breath.

„How bad is it?“ I ask, pulling her hand through the bars so I can take it in my lap and try to rub some warmth into it, even though it means we're both uncomfortably crouching, heads against the bars.

„Pretty bad.“

„I'm so sorry. I'd take your place, you know I would.“

„Yes.“

„Do you hate me? It's okay if you do.“

Pansy lets out a sigh. „Only in my darkest hours. But, no. I don't hate you, Draco. It was... my decision. My fault. I only hate Runcorn and all those other shit men.“

„Me too.“ I press a kiss to the back of her hand,

„How is it at home? How are you?“ There is an undertone to her voice that I don't really recognize.

„What do you think? Horrible, of course. I'm going insane, missing you.“

„You shouldn't,“ she says, but I can tell she's pleased. It makes me smile.

„What about Potter?“ she asks.

I swallow. „Nothing. I'm not seeing him anymore.“

„Really?“

„Yes. Did you expect anything else?“

„I kind of thought you'd have moved in with him by now, shagging in a king size, letting him buy you jewelry and talk about green-eyed brats. That maybe that was why you didn't come.“

I search her eyes. „Pans.“

„What?“

„You know that's ridiculous. On so many levels.“  


„You and Potter isn't ridiculous. I mean, it  _is_ , but... it's always been the two of you. So annoying.“

I decide not to comment on that.  


„Well, but you know that even  _if_ I were shagging Potter in a king size bed, that wouldn't change the fact I miss you horribly.“

Pansy flaps her free hand. „Don't lie, Draco. Not to me.“

„I'm not.“

She sighs and I'm squeezing her hand.

„It's not like I want you to be miserable, Drake. I'm just a bad person,“ she says quietly.

I have to laugh, even though it's tinged with tears. „Maybe, but so am I. And you're the best fucking friend anyone could wish for. I'd be dead without you.“

She hums and I kiss her hand again. Finally, she smiles, if just a little.

I can see Weasley looming in my peripheral and know the time is almost up. „Here,“ I say, pulling a chocolate bar out of my pocket. „For you.“

„Such a charmer,“ Pansy grins, but I know she's delighted. She loves presents as much as I do.

„I'll be back in three days, alright? They allow visitors twice a week. I'll be there.“

„Promises, promises.“

„I'll _be there_.“

Pansy rolls her eyes. Smiles at me. „Alright. I'll see you in three days, then.“

* * *

The third time Draco drops by to visit Pansy (no one is allowed to enter Azkaban without being escorted by an Auror), Ron is in a meeting. I'm not sure if he purposefully arranged it that way or if it is truly a coincidence.

Whatever it is, it means I'm going with Draco and it's pure torture. I walk up the small island to the gates of Azkaban and despite the cold and the smell of decay and despair, all I can really think about is Draco next to me. The movement of his arm, the way his long hair catches the sunlight. I imagine I can smell him, this salty-sweet scent that haunts me in my dreams, but I'm sure that's just my mind playing tricks on me.

I give them space to talk, even though I'm dying to listen in. But I manage to restrain myself and wait for Draco to return.

He's silent, pensive as he walks back to the apparition point with me.

„We're still working her case, you know,“ I say. Anything to chase that grave, deeply sad look off his face.

Grey eyes find mine. „What do you mean?“

„If we're lucky, the Wizengamot will remit a year or two.“ 

„Even if they did – which they won't – that would still be three years. She's already... hanging on just barely. She'd never make it out sane.“

A breeze is blowing his hair, revealing the hardness around his mouth, the pretty slope of his nose.

„My godfather got through twelve years and he didn't become insane. I mean, not to say it didn't leave marks, but he was still himself,“ I say.

„Right. I forgot about that,“ Draco says quietly. His eyes sweep over my face. „How did he do it?“

„Well...“ Maybe it was stupid to bring up Sirius. „He says it helped when he turned into a dog, because the Dementors didn't affect him the same way then. But mostly, he just... he held on for me. And for revenge on Pettigrew.“

We've come to a halt only metres before the apparition point. Draco's fingers are restless, tugging on his shirt.

„Pansy won't have to suffer through twelve years. And, remember, no one came to visit Sirius. You're with her every week.“

„I don't think it's enough,“ he says. His eyes are almost shutter free.

„It has to be.“

He looks to the side and the way his hair is blowing in the wind, his posture and the tormented look on his face, makes me think of a prince. Or maybe an elf. Some mystical creature too beatiful for mortals to lay eyes on.

„Hey.“ I step forward and take one of his fidgety hands. „If there is one thing I know about you and Parkinson, then it's that you are survivors. She'll get through this. And so will you.“

There is a vulnerability in his eyes that takes my breath away. One I haven't seen before.

„But what if that's wrong? What if... at some point, getting through isn't the right thing to do anymore?“

My heart is thudding in my chest. „What do you mean?“

Draco looks down. „Isn't it better to just let go if it's only going to get worse and worse?“

Sharp, feathery pain is shooting through me.

„It's not going to get worse and worse,“ I say, my voice vibrating in my throat, my heart in my ears.

Draco's expression is skeptical, but I hold on to his hand tighter and try to make him see, feel, that I  _understand_ .

„I know it feels like it is. But it's _not_.“ I think of Dumbledore and have to smile, even though thoughts of my old mentor don't usually bring me much joy. „Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.“

Draco's brow shoots up. „You did not come up with this yourself, Potter. No way.“

A grin spreads on my face. „I didn't. But it's true anyway.“

I sober, looking at Draco. Feeling his hand – skin and bone and magic – in mine. „You're not alone, Draco. Let me.“

„Let you what?“

„Turn on the light for you.“

Draco makes this noise, half a laugh, half a sob, and shakes his head at me. Suddenly, his arms are around my neck.

„Stupid, stupid Gryffindor,“ he says and then he kisses me, right there, in front of Azkaban.

Kissing Draco is both coming home after a long day and finally pushing off the ground into the air after endless moments of anticipation.

It's everything.

I stumble over the rug in front of my bed and almost crash both Draco and myself to the ground. The Slytherin, legs locked around my waist, fingers cupping my cheeks, laughs at me. „Graceful as ever, Potter.“

I drop him on the bed and waste no time crawling over him, kissing him again. „You try carrying me all the way up from the living room,“ I say breathlessly.

„I'd never do that,“ Draco says, almost as breathless as I am, and opens his trousers, pushing them down and away. My heart stops when he takes off his shirt, revealing his pale chest and the subtle, faded scars I left there. Like the first time I saw them, my chest is too tight. „I'm so sorry for those,“ I say and kiss the biggest one, cutting right through the center of Draco's chest.

„Don't be. I was about to cast an Unforgivable.“

„You said it wouldn't have worked.“

Slender fingers card through my hair. „You couldn't know that though, could you? Now take off your clothes.“

I do as I'm told, then summon some lube. Draco spreads his legs and I search for his opening.

I've barely even started fingering him, when he's already urging me to do more. Harder, faster,  _fuck me, Harry_ .

I'm fumbling around, stupid with want and something else threatening to burst my chest. Draco under me is writhing, nipples hard, a faint flush on his chest.

„Draco, I -“

„ _Fuck_ me, Salazar's bloody balls, just _put it in_.“

Helpless, I say  _yes_ and  _anything you want_ and  _Jesus, Draco_ and align myself. I push into him, arms braced on either side of his head, skin too tight as I feel him stretching around me, engulfed by his tight heat.

I lean down to kiss him as I wait for him to adjust, but Draco turns his head so that my mouth lands on his jaw instead, his arms like steel around my back, fingers scratching. „What the fuck are you waiting for? Fuck me.“

I start thrusting, almost passing out and afraid to come from how good it feels, how tight and hot and how he  _smells_ . Draco lets out a tight moan, small frown on his face.

„Harder,“ he demands. I fuck him harder, making the bed screach, his body warm and pliant under me.

His legs are opened to the side, his throat bared for me and as sexy as he looks like this, I want to see his face.

„Draco.“

He scrunches his nose. „Harder.“ His voice is almost a whisper.

My heart is beating so hard, I understand now how people sometimes have a heart attack during sex.

„No.“ I lean down and nip on his jaw. Lightly, just teasing with my teeth. My thrusts are slow and deep now.

„What are you doing?“ I can feel Draco's heart racing.

I don't answer, just keep kissing him until I finally reach his mouth. „I want it  _harder_ , Potter,“ he says and his voice is broken.

I run a hand over his quivering thigh. „It can be like this, too,“ I say, pressing a kiss to his lips, the lips he won't open for me.

„I don't want it like this.“

„I don't want to hurt you.“

„I _like_ that, arsehole.“

„Well, I like _this_. With you.“

He starts shivering as I keep up the slow pace. His eyes are screwed shut and then there are little moans he can't contain, fucked out of him by my deep thrusts into his body.

His ankles are crossing behind my back, our chests brushing now and then.

„You feel so good, baby.“ I suck a love bite into Draco's neck.

„Shut up.“ He sounds pained, overwhelmed – raw. I smile and nose at his jaw, kiss his cheekbones.

„You're beautiful.“

Grey eyes find me and I know he's trying to glare, but he can't. One of his arms slips off my back, hand curling around my biceps.

I change my angle a little until he's arching his back, keening. I hardly pull out anymore, instead I just grind there. High-pitched, broken moans are falling from Draco's lips. His hair is fanned out beneath his head like a halo, throat a beautiful curve.

„Come for me, love,“ I say.

„I can't... _Please_ , I need -“

„I know what you need.“ I don't touch him, just keep going like that until he's moaning continously, almost as if he's in pain.

„Harry... _fuck_.“

„Let go, baby. I've got you.“ To my utter amazement, Draco's legs draw up, his back arching off the mattress, his fingers digging into my skin. I feel the stickiness between our bellies and when his arse clenches around me, I almost come.

Slowly, carefully, I pull out, Draco shuddering under me. I hold him until the tremors are gone. He takes a deep breath.

„Don't think you'll always get away with half-arseing it like this,“ he says when he's finally caught his breath.

He is not fooling me, but I roll my eyes anyway, stroking over his sticky, taut belly.

„I like slow and sweet sometimes,“ I say, pulling him in until he's lying on my chest, one hand following the curve of his back until I can cup his butt, smooth and rounded under my palm. Arousel is pulsing through my veins, my cock hard against Draco's thigh.

The Slytherin pushes himself up enough to look into my face. „You didn't come.“

„It's fine. I mean, I could -“

„I don't mind getting fucked after I've come,“ he says, cutting me off. He spreads his legs, but I kiss him, then ask: „Would you mind... if I wanked?“

Draco seems a little surprised, then smirks like a cat. „Not at all.“

He rolls onto his back, sprawled over my sheets with tousled hair. He's pure sex with his hungry eyes and the elegant lines of his body. I kneel up, looking at him, heat spiking in my chest, shooting into my thighs. I moan, then start working my cock furiously, coming all over Draco's belly and thighs, collapsing next to him.

Slender hands are sifting through my hair and I hum in contentment. „You have a lot of scars,“ Draco says quietly.

„Hm-hm.“

„Where is this one from?“ Light as a feather, his index is running over a rather long, ugly scar on my shoulder. Rosy, smooth and hard to the touch.

„My uncle got me with the frying pan,“ I say.

Draco stills. „Your relatives hurt you?“

I nod, turning to my side. Draco mirrors me, looking into my face. „Often?“ he asks.

I wobble my head, playing with Draco's fingers. „Not very often. I mean, not, like, regularly. But whenever my uncle would get very angry, he'd... make me feel it.“

Draco traces the oval scar on my breastbone. „Is that from him, too?“

„No, that's from a horcrux. Long story. I can tell you about it another time.“

„And this?“ His fingers are now running over a long, pretty clean scar on the outside of my thigh. 

„That was my cousin, Dudley. I think it happened when he dragged me through the locker room after gym class. There was this... drain, I guess, on the floor, with a raised edge. He got scared when he saw how much it bled. That was  _after_ he beat the crap out of me though.“  


Draco's face is hard as he intertwines our fingers again.

„I'd kill every single one of those muggles for you.“

I smile. „I appreciate the sentiment, but no thanks.“ I look down, the smile fading. Trying for nonchalant, I add: „I'm long over it anyway. I mean, yes, my childhood was crap, but I'm an adult now. I'm fine.“

„A fucked-up childhood sticks with you though,“ Draco says softly.

I swallow, not quite able to meet his eyes.

„And Dumbledore just left you with those people?“ He sounds incredulous.

The old bitterness, the resentment, is tainting this precious moment. My mouth curls. „Apparently.“

Draco leans in and kisses me hard. „Fuck them,“ he says against my lips, eyes steel. „Fuck all of them. You're worth a thousand Dumbledores.“

This powerful feeling I won't name is surging up inside me again, pulling me under, washing everything else away. I sit up and pull Draco into my arms, ravishing his mouth.

„I really like you, Draco Malfoy. I really, really like you.“

* * *

I wake Harry up with a blow job that has him shooting into my mouth after about two minutes. Then I shower and he slips under the stream with me and has me against the wet tiles, strong hands holding me safely in place, sure, deep thrusts taking me apart until I come shouting his name.

I'm wearing his clothes when we make breakfast together. Well,  _he_ makes breakfast. I'm making coffee and looking pretty.

„When are you going to visit Pansy again?“ he asks me after he's put a plate of delicious pancakes in front of me.

„Next week, probably.“

„I can take you, if you like.“ 

I smile, taking in the sight. Harry freshly showered in worn sweatpants, eyes still a bit puffy from sleep, might be my favourite Harry.

„Do you want to have dinner with me tonight?“ he asks, eyes shining.

I hesitate. „I have to work tonight, but if we don't draw it out too long, then yes.“

Harry's fork stops halfway to his mouth. „You... work?“

I arch a brow at him. „Usually, yes.“

„But...“ Green eyes seem shocked. „But we...?“

My walls, temporarily dropped, are up again in a heartbeat. „We what, Potter? You think just because you shagged me twice in a row that means you own me now?“

„What? No, that's not what I meant! Just – you're going to shag someone else?“

The pain in his face has me put my fork down. I've lost my appetite. „You know I'm a whore, Harry. That's what I do.“

„Right.“ He looks at his plate. My heart aches.

„I understand if you can't do this.“

He takes his time with his answer. When he finally looks at me again, I think I'm going to die. 

„Thank you. Because... I can't. I can't be with you knowing you're fucking other people. Even if it's for work. I'm sorry, but that's just not me.“

I nod, unable to speak. Acid is burning in my mouth.

Harry reaches over the table and takes my hand. His eyes are pleading. „You won't have to work if you're with me. I have more than enough for both of us. And if you want me to, I can help you get another job. Draco?“

I pull my hand away and get up. „That's very sweet, but I don't need charity. Thanks for breakfast.“

He follows me to the door, catching my hand. „Draco.“ His eyes are so goddamn devastating. „I really want to try this. I meant what I said. I like you. A lot.“

I smile tightly and allow him to see the tears in my eyes, even though they don't fall. „I know, Harry. And I like you, too. But we don't belong together.“

„Yes. Yes we do.“

His hands are on my hips now, strong and possessive. I want nothing more than for him to throw me over his shoulder, carry me back into his bedroom and never let me out again.

„I can give you anything you want,“ he says, voice hoarse. „I _want_ to.“

Very gently, I push his hands away. „That's wrong. I don't want a sugar daddy.“

„That's not... _Please_ , Draco.“

I reach up and press a chaste kiss to his lips. „I wish you all the very best, Harry.“

* * *

„Mate, that's enough. Come here.“

„Harry, honey – just...“

Ron and Hermione's hands guiding me. Crashing face first into something soft. Sheets smelling like my best friends.

„It's going to be fine.“

Light touches on my shoulder. Someone rubbing my back.

„Don't worry, we're here. We're here, Harry.“

I wake up with the worst hangover I ever had, squeezing my eyes shut against the sun. It takes me an hour until I make it out of bed.

I throw up in the shower, crouch down, hands around my knees. Feeling the stream pattering on my back and thinking to myself that it's been a long, long time since I've felt so fucking unwell.

When I make it into the kitchen, Ron and Hermione are waiting for me there. Also, there's coffee and water, which is really all I want right now. I'm parched.

„I was just about to call the Mediwizards,“ Ron says as I fall into a chair next to him, reaching for the bottle of water. I just grunt.

„Would you like some breakfast, Harry?“ Hermione sounds wary.

„Not right now. Thanks though.“

They don't make me talk about it and I'm thankful for that. Thankful to just be able to curl up in bed and pretend I don't exist.

Luckily, I've got a lot of practice.

„You're a treasure.“ Pansy takes the truffles I bought for her and pops them into her mouth. She's gaunt and grumpy most of the time, even when I'm here, but chocolate never fails to cheer her up.

„Pansy, I miss Harry.“

It has taken me four weeks and eight visits at Pansy's to admit it. Out loud, at least.

I look at her through the bars, my hair stringy. I've came here right after work, because they only allow visits in the morning on Saturdays. „I thought it would pass if I just ignored it, but it doesn't. I miss him so fucking much.“

Pansy knows about the last time we fucked (even though the word doesn't really do it justice) and I'm sure she also already knows that I miss Harry. But I need to say it anyway.

„So go see him. Get some of that awful Gryffindor prick, if that's what you want.“

I sigh and lean my forehead against the bars. „Right now, I'm not really feeling like another cock, to be honest.“ I shake my head and scrunch my nose. „That's not what it's about anyway. And I can't just  _go see him_ .“

„Why not?“

„He doesn't want me as long as I'm a whore.“

Pansy gives me a long look through the bars, the last truffle dangling between her dainty fingers. „I can't say I understand you, Draco. He literally offered you a  _life_ with  _him_ , all expenses paid. And what did you do? You said no.“ She eats the truffle. „For  _what_ ? Sucking three cocks a night and taking three more up the arse in cheap cars for five Galleons total? Really.“

I toy with my hair. „If I said yes, he'd  _own_ me, Pansy. More than any of those johns.“ I see her skepitcal look and go on, trying to explain. „No, I mean it. They buy me for one quick fuck and that's it. It's a  _job_ . But if I let Harry take me in? I'd be nothing more than some pet. A doll he'd enjoy for a couple months or so and then grow bored of.“

I tug at a strand, trying to untie a knot. Sigh when I realize I won't succeed. „I don't want to depend on anyone like this. Not even Harry.“

Pansy is quiet for a moment. „Alright, I understand. But then go get a different job. One Potter can live with.“

I give her alook. „Who'd employ me?“

„I don't know, Drake. You tell me.“

„No one, for fuck's sake!“

„I don't believe that. And what kind of mindset is that, anway? You're not even going to try?“ Dark eyes gleam. „Then stop whining about missing Potter. It can't be that bad if you're not even trying to change something.“

I look down. Then at her. „Was I being stupid?“

A wide grin spreads over Pansy's face. „Oh, yeah. Always, love.“

Going job hunting during the day and then hooking at night takes its toll pretty quickly. Sleep falls short and after a while, I feel like a zombie. Not exactly increasing my chances of finding a job.

But I don't give up. Not that easily.

One week passes with no results, then another.

Cafés don't want me. Shops don't want me. Public owleries don't want me either and when I ask Madam Malkin's, she almost hexes me six ways to Sunday.

In the grey morning light, I'm teetering on the brink of unconsciousness, but I take one last john, because chocolate is expensive and paying rent is, too. I hardly feel it as he fucks me in a dark alley, but I  _do_ cast my protection spells. Go me.

Still, I don't really notice when he leaves and find myself in a huddle on the floor, jeans pulled up, but still open. My whole body is a giant bruise.

„Hun? Are you alright?“ I blink, trying to focus on the face swimming in front of my eyes.

It belongs to an elderly witch with grey hair, an impressive bosom and lipstick on her teeth.

I want to say  _Yes, I'm fine_ , but out of my mouth comes a pathetic whimper.

„Oh, sweetheart. Let's get you inside.“

I'm tucked in on a ratty sofa and pass out for hours. When I wake up, the witch introduces herself as Fiona McGillan and serves me breakfast. The porridge is delicious, the coffee horrible, but I finish it all while Fiona is babbling about this and that. When I'm done, I'm forced into a never-ending smalltalk.

„You're looking for a job?“ Fiona finally interrupts me.

„Yes, but no luck so far.“

„I can't imagine! You're such a lovely young man.“

I blink at her. Maybe she's demented. She  _did_ just pick me up from a dirty street corner with my jeans open, afterall.

„That's very kind, Mrs.McGillan.“

„Oh, call me Fiona, dear!“ She smiles and pours herself some more of the concoction she calls coffee.

„You know, I'm actually looking for a little help at the library.“ She's managing the public library – I know that because she told me about it at least three times.

My heart is pounding. „You do?“ I ask cautiously.

„Indeed. Do you read, sweetheart?“

„Yes. When I was younger, I'd finish six hundred pages in two days.“

„Marvelous! I'm sure you'd fit _right_ in at the library.“

I open my mouth. I should be a decent human being and tell her who exactly I am – she clearly doesn't know.  


But I'm not a decent human being, I'm a Slytherin. A Malfoy. A whore, a liar and a cheat and I  _need_ this job.

So I flash her my most dazzling smile and say: „I certainly would.“

Working in a library is both better and worse than I expected. It's worse because it's pretty boring most of the time. I'm organizing shelves and files and check out books and that's mostly it.

It's better because not nearly as much people seem to recognize me as I thought they would. Maybe it's because I look so different in my plain muggle clothes, long hair either open or sometimes in a plait. Maybe it's because no one would ever expect me to be here.

It's also better because I get free coffee every day and can lend books without paying for a membership.

It takes me a while to get used to sleeping at night again. I've worked night shifts for so long, my body needs time to adjust. But when it does, I find myself less tired day by day.

It's going so smoothly for the first two weeks that I almost cave and run straight to Harry. Wanting his praise like a little kid. 

I've vowed to myself that I'd have the job for at least two months before I met with him, but it's hard. I think I'd have screwed it if it wasn't for the start of the third week.

I'm putting some boring teenage romances to their rightful places on the shelf, when someone taps my shoulder. „You're really attractive,“ a male voice says. I turn around.

The cocky smile dies on his features. He drops his hand instantly. „Holy fuck, that's Draco Malfoy!“

I gulp. Whenever someone had recognized me so far, they had been fairly subtle about it. 

This one is not subtle at all.

„Do you need help with something?“ I ask cooly.

The bloke stares at me. He's just a little older than me, maybe twenty-six. Brown hair and eyes. A good bit of stubble on his face.

„You belong in Azkaban,“ he hisses, face twisted with rage and hatred.

„Thanks for sharing. Would you move on now?“

I'm slammed against the shelf behind me. Books are tumbling to the ground. Hands are closing around my neck.

„What is going on here?“ Fiona's voice is harsher than I have ever heard it. The hands are wrenched away from me.

„This is Draco Malfoy!“ the man exclaims, pointing at me. Spit is flying from his mouth. Fiona's usually so kind eyes are hard.

„I have to ask you to leave my library, sir.“

With one more hateful look at me, the wizard storms away.

I look at the ground. „I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Fiona.“ My voice is hoarse. My throat hurts.

„Oh, sweetheart. You thought I didn't know?“

Fiona makes me take the rest of the day off, so I go and buy Pansy some chocolate – the one with mint, her favourite.

When I make my way to Azkaban's gates with Weasley, the ginger eyes my throat. „What happened?“

I flap my hand. „Some idiot at the library flipped out on me. I was just sorting some stupid books, minding my own business...“

I trail off. It doesn't matter.

Weasley watches me with raised brows. Since I said goodbye to Harry, the Gryffindor has treated me rather cooly. Not hostile, but he kept me at a distance, making sure I knew where his loyalties lie. As if that would have ever been questionable.

„Sorting books? Are you... working at a library?“

I flush bright red. Apparently, I'm more shaken than I thought I was.

I look at my feet. „Don't tell Harry.“

„Why not?“

„I want to... make sure I'll keep the job before I do.“

I don't look at Weasley's face, so I can't be sure, but I'd bet a lot of money that he's sporting a bright smile.

* * *

„Are you sure you can't take Draco?“ I'm being a lousy friend, I know. For once, Ron has plans, and here I am, begging him not to make me bring Draco to Azkaban.

Even though it's just a couple minutes with the Slytherin. It's too much.

„Yeah, sorry. But I really need to be on time with Robards.“ Ron gives me a rough pat on the shoulder and leaves the office.

I try to use the last minutes I have before Draco enters to ground and calm myself.

It doesn't matter that we haven't talked in seven weeks. It doesn't matter that I'm still picturing him when I wank. And it doesn't matter that I sometimes scream into my pillow when it all gets too much to bear.

It's useless. The moment Draco walks in, I'm gone. He's wearing simple jeans, not that tight, and a purple jumper. His hair is open, silky and I want to bury my hands in it.

He looks... good. His skin is glowing like I haven't seen it ever before. The dark circles under his eyes are significantly less pronounced.

Everything inside of me is screaming.

„Hey, Harry.“ The smile Draco throws me is almost shy.

The audacity – he's using my first name. The  _audacity_ .

„Aren't we back to last names?“ I ask clippedly. Draco arches a brow.

„I wasn't aware.“

I don't know what to answer, so I say nothing. I walk him out of the Ministry and side-along him to Azkaban.

I fully intend to beeline to the gates and then leave him to it, but a pale hand catches my wrist. „Harry, wait.“

„What?“

My voice was supposed to come out harsh, but instead, it just sounds bruised. Draco bites his lip. There is a shine in his eyes as he looks up to me that is a dagger in my heart.

„I've got a job,“ he says. „At a public library.“

I blink, open my mouth. Close it again. My mind is blank I can only stare at him.

A smile, smug and insecure at the same time is playing around his lips. „I just wanted you to know that.“

He's striding toward the gate and I follow him, a puppet on his string.

„You _knew_?“ I'm yelling at Ron. I'm actually yelling.

Totally zen, Ron takes a sip from his coffee. „Don't get your knickers in a twist. He told you now, so all good.“

„Five _weeks_ later! You've known for five fucking weeks and you let me _suffer_...“

Ron grins. „Wow, Malfoy's rubbing off on you. I don't remember you being such a drama queen, Harry.“

I huff. „I'm  _not_ .“

Ron pretends he didn't hear me. „Or – wait. Actually, I do. Fifth Year. You were so fucking mad at us.“

He snickers. I give him a long stare and cross my arms. „I really don't think it's funny, Ron.“

He sobers, mostly at least. „He didn't want me to tell you and I understood why. I thought it was a good idea, to wait until he was a little bit more secure.“

„You're _my_ best mate.“  


„Yeah, I am. I didn't  _not_ tell you because Malfoy said so. I thought it was better not to get your hopes up, you know?“

I do, but I don't like it still. I fumble with an old quill on my desk. „So... do you know where he works, exactly?“

Ron grins broadly. „I thought you'd never ask.“

When Harry walks into the library, my heartrate spikes so quickly that I'm afraid I might faint. My heart remains hammering as I watch him walking through the aisles, not having seen me yet.

The moment he does... I'm gone.

My blood is pumping and I'm nothing more than my pounding heart.

He stops a few metres away from me. Hands shoved in his pockets. I approach him, a stack of books in my arms.

„Hi, Harry.“ I'm sure he can see my heart beating.

His eyes find mine and I remember how they looked when he was inside me.  _Slow and sweet_ .

„Hey.“

When doesn't say anything else, I say: „It's nice to see you.“

He nods, still not speaking. My heartbeat is about to kill me, but I ignore it. „Would you like a quick tour?“

„Sure, why not.“

I show him around, babbling nonsense he probably doesn't give a fuck about, my hands gesticulating, fluttering. When we reach the entrance, I meet his gaze.

„It's nice,“ he says. Almost smiling.

„Yes, it's quite alright. The collection of Potions books is atrocious, but... well.“

Harry shifts his weight. Unwilling to go, unwilling to speak.

„I was wondering,“ I say, absolutely sure my pulse is jumping in my throat. „If you'd like to have coffee with me.“

Green eyes widen. „Now?“

„Whenever you like.“

Harry looks at the ground, shuffling his feet. „What about... tomorrow?“

„Tomorrow sounds great.“

„I could pick you up in my lunch break?“

I nod and smile at him. When he returns it, I know that the drum of my heart means always.

The lunch break with Harry is a little awkward at first. We don't know what to talk about.

I don't even need to talk. Being close to him is really all I need.

He has to go back to work way too soon and I look after him, before making my way back to my own work.

Setting one foot in front of the other, I realize that there are people that will never leave your heart. Once they sneaked their way in, there is no kicking them out anymore.

They're there to stay, maybe not forever on the front of your mind, but definitely on the back, even if you think you've exorcised them.

On our third date, I invite Draco home. He's wearing a shirt with short sleeves, tucked into his black jeans and I tell myself that I'm making a rational decision, instead of being too weak to keep on resisting Draco's magnetism.

The Slytherin smiles at me and takes my hand as we leave the little restaurant we had dinner at. His foot brushing my ankles under the table. Eyes meeting over sparkling wine. Bickering over full plates, until my cock was straining against my trousers.

„Ready?“

„When you are.“ Draco wraps his arms around my neck and I pull him close. Together, we spin into darkness and land right in front of the door to Grimmauld.

My heart is beating a little too fast as I unlock the door and Draco follows me inside.

„Would you like a drink?“

„Sure.“

„Is wine alright or rather something stronger?“

„Wine is perfect.“

We're quiet as I pour two glasses, spilling a little. I hand Draco one and lift my own.

The blond smiles, flashing perfect teeth. „Cheers.“

We clink glasses and I take a swig, way too big to be tasteful.

„Pansy would love this,“ Draco says, swirling the wine appreciatively.

„Yeah?“ I don't know what to say. I want to grab him and tear his clothes off, but I feel strangely shy.

„Hm-hm. She likes them dry, but sweet.“

„I'm sure you both have good taste in wine.“

Draco grins at me and it makes me hard. He  _grins_ at me and it makes me  _hard_ .

„Of course we do.“ He sets his glass down. Reaches for mine and sets it down as well. My heart is pounding, painfully so.

Pale, delicate hands are stroking down my arms. He steps so close that I can feel his breath.

„I really missed you, Harry.“

„I really missed you, too.“ I'm breathless. I'm sure Draco can tell how turned on I am and I feel faintly embarrassed by it.

Grey eyes are searching mine. Sinewy arms are wrapping loosley around my neck.

„I'm going to kiss you now,“ Draco whispers and I can only nod like I've lost my mind. 

The moment his lips touch mine, all my inhibitions fall away. It's hot and wet from the first moment. Our tongues are wild, fighting for dominance.

I catch Draco by his thighs and haul him up, sit him on the counter. One of the wine glasses is tumbling into the sink.

Draco moans into my mouth as I pull him in by his hips, his legs locking around my waist. „Fuck,  _Harry_ .“

I wind a hand into his hair, pull his head back and lick at his throat. Suck bruises there.

His hands are reaching for my trousers, fumbling, but I shake my head. For a moment, there's fear in grey eyes.

„I want – Bedroom,“ I choke out and the fear vanishes. He kisses me deeply, then slides off the counter.

We somehow make it up the stairs and out of our clothes. Onto my bed.

* * *

Harry kisses down my chest and, already, I'm hard enough to come on the spot. When he takes me into his mouth, I moan obscenely. „Harry, I –  _fuck_ , I'll come, if you...“

Green eyes blink up at me and I do come. Into his mouth. Some of it is trickling over his chin and the sight makes it under the top five of my favourite ones.

He moves up and we're kissing again, hands everywhere. He's stroking over my sides, squeezing my arse, then caressing the insides of my thighs. My hands map out his torse, run over the curve of his butt. Feel how hard he is when I reach for his dick.

„Ride me,“ he says against my mouth and flips us so that I'm on top, thighs spread.

We're quick about prep, because I tell him to. When I sink down on his cock, slowly, I think I'm about to combust.

Harry stares at me, breath held. His hands are grasping my hips and I rock. When I lean back and start riding him in earnest, it doesn't take long until he's crying out.

My name is falling from his lips as he comes and when he pulls me down on his cock almost violently, I see stars and come again, even though there is hardly any semen left in me.

Sweat slowly cooling on our bodies, we're lying intertwined on his bed, listening to each other's breathing.


	8. Epilogue

„ _Don't_ touch my hair.“ Draco dodges me with one graceful motion and a death glare.

I lift my hands in surrender. „Sorry. It just looks really good today.“

The Slytherin rolls his eyes. „Yes, I know. That's why you shall not touch it.“

Wistfully, I admire the long, silky curtain of white blond falling down his back, held back on the left side of his head by a fine, pretty braid, revealing Draco's sharp cheekbones, the strong jaw.

„Did you buy the Merlot I told you to get?“ He's not even looking over his shoulder as he's heading toward the kitchen again.

I have never, in all the five months we've officially been dating, seen Draco so involved in dinner. He usually likes _me_ to prepare it – or get it, when I'm too lazy.

„Yes, love,“ I say, going for calm.

Draco has been snapping at me all day and it took me a while until I realized that he's _nervous_.

Even now, feeling like I know Draco inside out, I still sometimes struggle to recognize his nerves for what they are. He's just so damn good at masking them.

I track him down in the kitchen, fussing with some glasses. The elegant, black trousers he's wearing are hugging his body, the thin, white shirt open at the collar makes me want to tear it off of him.

I step up behind him, resting light hands on his hips. Lean down and kiss his neck.

„Relax, yeah? It's all going to be fine.“

The hard, sharp exhale Draco makes is another tell sign of his anxiety. „Are you a psychic now?“

I brush his hair away and kiss his neck again.

„We're not shagging, Potter. The guests are supposed to arrive in ten minutes.“

„I know. I wasn't trying to get you naked.“

I hug him from behind, trying to exude calmness and positivity. Draco once told me, in the haze of post-orgasmic bliss, that he liked my _solidity_.

I'm still not a hundred percent sure what exactly he meant by that, but I give my best to give him said solidity.

„What if they hate me,“ he says. It's gusting out of his mouth, barely audible.

„Don't be silly, darling. You know they like you.“

„Not so much that they'd want to celebrate my promotion. I mean, why would they care?“

I smile and hold him a little tighter. During the months of being with him, I learned that Draco doesn't like loose hugs. He wants to be pulled in tightly, held closely, as if otherwise, he might just fly away.

„Because they're all happy for you.“

„Ginevra hardly _knows_ me.“

„She knows me though. And she is happy that I found you.“

„Is she really?“

„ _Yes_.“ I drop a kiss atop Draco's head, then step back. He turns around to me and it's one of the rare occasions that he allows his unease to show on his face, even though he doesn't voice it.

I gently tilt his chin up. „Don't worry so much. This is not a test or something. We just want to have a nice dinner to celebrate you taking over the library.“

Draco takes a breath, nods, and plasters on a crooked smile. „Alright, then.“

Of course, Ron and Hermione are the first ones to arrive.

Ron hugs Draco in greeting. My boyfriend doesn't like getting touched by any men other than me very much and avoids it whenever possible, but I feel like, lately, he doesn't mind Ron much anymore.

„Congrats, Ferret. Hermione loves you now.“

Hermione rolls her eyes, but smiles warmly at Draco. It took a moment, but she came around to the idea of us dating rather quickly in the end.

„I can't wait to come by,“ she says and everyone knows she absolutely means it. When has Hermione ever been able to resist books?

Draco smiles at her and I'm sure only I notice the strain of it. „I'll be happy to have you. Even though you might want to wait until I've completed the first few modifications.“

As Hermione starts grilling Draco about books she's read, meant to read, wants to read and thinks she _should_ read, Luna and Ginny arrive.

I won't lie – it is still just a little strange to see them together. I doubt that Ginny and I will ever get back what we used to have. I think I've destroyed the lightness between us.

But I greet them warmly and genuinely and Luna compliments Draco on his outfit, while Ginny immediately starts teasing Ron (her idea of easing tension and making everyone feel at home) and I think it's going to be okay.

The last ones to arrive are Neville and his wife Hannah. I haven't seen both of them in quite a while, which is a shame, since Hannah and Draco are getting along pretty well.

We have dinner together and it's not like it is without Draco, but it's still nice. Hermione is talking a lot about work, Ron is keeping our glasses topped. I make smalltalk with Ginny and Draco is charming some hilarious stories about his students out of Neville. By the time we're getting started on dessert, Hannah and Luna have bonded over some jewelery store I don't know and when Draco tentatively joins their conversation, Hannah visibly lets go of any lingering resentments.

When everyone starts yawning and Ron is going on a rant about the Cannons, Draco lightly touches my knee under the table. A smile is spreading over my face.

Completely unexpectedly, I learned that Draco doesn't like PDA at all. Whenever we have friends over (which is not that often), even if it's only Ron, he will hardly touch me and if he does, he usually keeps it to a strictly friendly way. I really think Ron has only seen us snuggle once, and that was when Draco was quite pissed.

I'm not quite sure why that is, even though I have my suspicions. For example, I know that, in front of my friends, Draco hates everything that reminds him of what he used to do for a living.

With me alone, sometimes I feel like it's the opposite – he wants to make sure I don't forget. As if I ever could.

But while he seems to need me to prove to him again and again that I don't care, he never wants my friends to even just think about it.

So maybe that's the reason why he usually doesn't touch. Or maybe he simply doesn't want to be sexualized – or perhaps he even thinks _I_ wouldn't be cool with it and he's afraid to embarrass me.

Whatever the reason, I never called him out on it. It's his choice how much he wants my friends to see. If he's not kissing me with them in sight, I'll have to accept that.

But right now his hand is warm on my knee and when I take it, his fingers immediately lock with mine.

Ginny and Luna leave after dinner, but the rest of our guest sticks around for much longer. Only when Neville can't seem to stop yawning, eyelids dropping, Hannah and he get going too.

Ron and Hermione stay until we've finished the last bottle of wine and Draco is so relaxed that he's snarking with Ron like they do when they're alone.

My two best friends leave with the promise to be back soon.

„You should come visit us sometimes,“ Hermione says, speaking to both of us, but looking at Draco.

„I'd like that,“ Draco says politely, but I know how much the offer means to him.

Hermione smiles. „I'll see you at the library.“

Ron rolls his eyes. „Those two.“ I grin back.

„Alright then, Ferret.“ Ron claps Draco's shouder. „See you around.“

When they're gone, the last remains of tension fall off Draco's shoulder. I grin and kiss him. His lips melt under mine and for some moments, we just stand in the middle of our living room, snogging.

We pull back and I wind my fingers in Draco's glorious hair, finally allowed to mess it up.

„I have a surprise for you,“ I say.

Draco cocks his head and I suddenly feel a little unsure and add: „I mean, maybe it's a bit weird to call it a surprise, but...“

My boyfriend's brows lift, mildly amused, the faintest, very faintest hint underwhelmed.

„I think I'm having an idea what your _surprise_ might be. The answer is, yes, please, but don't ruin my clothes. They were expensive.“

I blush a little and shake my head. „I meant a real surprise.“

„Your cock isn't a real surprise?“

I roll my eyes, blushing even harder. Still, after all those months, I haven't quite been able to match Draco's filthy mouth.

„Not really, don't you think? I feel like you know it pretty well by now.“

That makes him crack a brief smile. „That is true.“

Curious now, he inclines his head, gazing at me. „So what is my surprise, then?“

I take a breath. Smile. „Pansy will be released in two weeks. They just signed the papers.“

Draco's lips quiver. „No.“

„Yes.“

I put my hands on either side of his face, thumbs stroking.

„You're playing tricks on me.“

I shake my head, wondering if one day, Draco won't ask me that question at least once a week anymore.

„Never, darling.“

„She's really getting out?“

„Yes. And I thought... I totally get if you maybe want to live in your old flat, but... if you'd rather stay here, I'd love to have Pansy. We have so many spare rooms, I thought it might be... But it's whatever you want,“ I hastily say, faced with Draco's expression. „If you want to move in with her again, alone, I mean, I understand. Really, I -“

„You would be alright with Pansy living here?“ Draco asks, quietly.

I nod. „Sure.“

The smile aimed at me is one I rarely get. One of pure bliss and a bit of ache and so many emotions.

I'm kissed deeply, then Draco pulls back. I'm a little dazed.

„Thank you, Harry. Truly.“

I blink, trying to kickstart my brain again. „Of course. I mean – I thought you'd want to be there for her, at least the first weeks. Or months. She can stay however long she likes.“

Draco's arms wrap around my neck and he kisses my skin. I pull him in close and smile, relieved that Draco won't move out again.

The Slytherin pulls back a little, his nose brushing my neck. Little kitten kisses climb up my jaw.

I'm careful not to move. Draco isn't like that very often. He just doesn't. Not like this.

Slowly, I lift a hand and pet his hair.

Draco presses another kiss to my cheek, puts my hand on his waist. „I think I'm in love with you,“ he says and I'm hit by lightening.

I haven't said it yet. I know. I've known it for a long while now.

But I haven't said it yet, because I was sure Draco wouldn't say it back. I wanted to wait until I was at least rather confindent that a confession like that wouldn't make him run.

Never, not in a million years – not in my wildest dreams – did I think Draco would say it first.

The Slytherin pulls back just a little. „You're not going to say anything?“

Before he can freak out, he sees the incredulous smile on my face.

He makes an endearing squeaky noise as I lift him off his feet, kissing his face. „I love you, Draco. I fucking _love_ you. So much.“

Draco laughs and huffs a little, but his legs lock around my waist and when he kisses the tip of my nose, there is something soft in his eyes.

Something breakable.

„You will regret this one day, but I'm still glad you said it,“ he says, and that Breakable is in his voice, too.

I make sure I'm looking deeply into his eyes, that he sees me, before I say: „I will never regret loving you, Draco. And I will not ever stop.“

Draco shakes his head. „Don't say those things. They're stupid. No one can ever know.“

„I do.“ I brush his hair back, then start grinning. „Honestly, if we broke up now, Hermione would probably hunt me down for robbing her of her new book club.“

„It's not a club if it's only two people. And we don't have a _book club_.“

I grin and put him down, take his hand and pull him after me, heading toward the stairs.

„I know you're a nerd, Draco. No use in trying to hide it.“

Draco's expression goes soft again and I almost trip over the first step.

„No, I guess there is no use in that, isn't there?“

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and Kudos are the best - I'd love to hear your thoughts!


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